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COBB'S  SEQUEL 


TO  THE  JUVENILE  READERS; 


COMPRISING 


A  SELECTION  OF  LESSONS  IN  PROSE  AND  POETRY, 


FROM   HIGHLY    ESTEEMED 


AMERICAN  AND  ENGLISH  WRITERS. 


DESIGNED  FOR  THE  USE  OF  HIGHER  CLASSES    IN   SCHOOLS  AND    ACADEMIES  J 

AND     TO    IMPRESS     THE     MINDS     OF     YOUTH     WITH 

SENTIMENTS  OF  VIRTUE  AND  RELIGION. 


BY  LYMAN, CpJBR,  .     V'.'i     • 

|  ! 
AUTHOR   OF   THE   SPELLING-BOOK,   SCHOOL   DICTIONARY,   JUVENIL* 
READERS,  AND  EXPLANATORY   ARITHMETICS 


STEREOTYPED  BY  REES,   REDFIELD.  AND    RIPLEY  ..  ..NJSW  YORK 


NEW-YORK  • 


PUBLISHED    BY    HARPER    A     BROTHERS, 
NO,    82    CLIFF-STREET, 


1834. 


/ 


["Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1832,  by  Lyman 
Cobb,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York."] 


•. ••  •   • 


PREFACE. 


The  favour  shown  by  the  publick  to  the  "  Juvenile 
Readers,"  has  encouraged  the  Compiler  to  hope,  that  the 
present  volume  will  be  deemed  worthy  of  attention. 

In  forming  this  compilation,  the  object  has  been  to 
preserve  the  same  chaste  attention  to  the  morals  of  youth 
as  in  the  former  works.  The  materials  have  been  taken 
from  the  most  admired  and  elegant  writers;  and  the 
pieces  are  generally  more  extended,  and  contain  a  greater 
variety  of  style  and  composition.  It  is,  therefore,  pre- 
sumed, that  this  work  will  form  a  proper  "  Sequel  to  the 
Juvenile  Readers ;"  and  will  be  calculated  to  allure  the 
tender  mind  to  the  love  of  knowledge,  and  the  practice 
of  virtue  and  religion ;  to  inform  the  understanding,  and 
please  the  imagination ;  to  warm  the  opening  boaom  with 
social  and  benevolent  affections,  to  inculcate  the  several 
duties  and  principles  of  morality,  and  thereby  improve, 
both  in  private  families  and  in  schools,  the  highest  class 
of  young  readers.  It  is  well  known,  that  the  influence 
of  school  exercises,  in  the  formation  of  young  minds,  is 
very  great ;  and,  perhaps,  that  influence  does  not  operate 
with  more  force  in  any  department  of  education  than 
through  the  medium  of  lessons  for  exercise  in  reading. 
Chastity  of  thought,  and  purity  of  diction,  have,  there- 
fore, been  objects  of  the  Compiler's  peculiar  attention. 

M109921 


IV  PREFACE* 

He  has  great  confidence  in  the  favourable  reception  of 
this  work,  from  the  circumstance,  that  it  will  present  to 
the  American  youth  a  selection  of  pieces,  a  portion  of 
which  is  from  American  writers,  none  of  this  class  being 
in  the  English  Reader,  the  book  most  generally  in  use 
in  the  schools  of  this  country ;  and  pride  for  the  literary 
reputation  of  our  own  country,  should,  it  would  seem, 
dictate  to  us  the  propriety  of  inserting  in  the  books  of  our 
primary  schools,  specimens  of  our  own  literature. 

Believing,  that  no  advantage  could  possibly  arise  from 
a  methodical  arrangement  of  the  lessons,  he  has  preferred 
variety  to  system,  so  that  the  reader  will  have  a  nun> 
ber  of  subjects  for  each  week's  reading;  and,  he  has 
spared  no  pains  to  render  the  work,  in  all  respects,  wor- 
thy of  the  generous  patronage  which  a  liberal  publick 
has  bestowed  on  his  former  publications. 

LYMAN  COBB. 
New  York,  May  15,  1832. 


CONTENTS. 


Lesson.  Page. 

1.  Education,  -    7 

2.  Formation  of  Character)       -    9 

3.  Importance  of  Virtue)  -        -  11 

4.  Industry  and  Application)    -  12 

5.  The  Falls  of  St.  Anthony)    -  13 

6.  On  Gratitude,      -        -        -  14 

7.  The  advantages  of  a  Taste 

for  Natural  History,         -  15 

8.  On  the  Importance  of  Order 

in   the   Distribution  of 

our  Time,        -        -        -  16 

9.  Cultivation  of  Memory,        -  18 

1 0.  On  the  Beauties  of  the  Psalms,  20 

11.  TheGlory  of  New  England, 

her  Free  Schools,    -         -  21 

12.  The  Epitaph,       -        -        -  22 

13.  The  Goodness  of  Providence,  ib. 

14.  The  Thunder-storm,    -        -  23 

15.  A  Suspicious  Temper  the 

Source  of  Misery  to  its 
Possessor,       -        -        -  24 

16.  Self-knowledge,  -        -        -  25 

17.  The  Sleep  of  the  Brave,       -  27 

18.  Home,  -  28 

19.  The  Liberty  of  the  Press,    -  29 

20.  Wisdom,     -        -        -        -  31 

21.  Practical  Religion,       -         -  ib 

22.  Rolla's  Address  to  the  Peru- 
-  321 


23.  Genius,        -        -        -        -  33 

24.  Ancient  Babylon,         -        -  ib. 

25.  The  Poisoned  Valley,  -  35 

26.  Falls  of  the  Montmorency,      3' 

27.  The  Elder's  Funeral,  -        -  38 

28.  On  the  Death  of  a  Brother,     44 

29.  Grandeur  and  Moral  Interest 

of  American  Antiquities,   46 

30.  The  Importance  of  a  Good 

Education,     -        -        -    49 

31.  A  Sister's  Love,         *        -     50 

32.  On  Happiness,  -        -51 

33.  Liberty  and  Slavery,  -    53 

34.  May  Morning,  -        -     54 

35.  The  Happy  Man,      -        -    56 

36.  Women   Polish  and   Im- 

prove Society,       -        -    57 

37.  The  Wonders  of  Nature,       59 


Lesson.  Page. 

38.  Female  Accomplishments,    61 

39.  The  Beggar's  Petition,    -    62 

40.  The  Dignity  of  Human 
Nature,  -        -        -     63 

41.  Education  Prevents  Crime,    64 

42.  Address  to  the  Sun,  -    65 

43.  Song  of  the  Pilgrims,       -    66 

44.  Visit  to  the  Falls  of  Mis- 
souri,    -        -        -        -    67 

45.  Description  of  the  Natu- 
ral Bridge  in  Virginia,  -    69 

46.  Change  of  External  Con- 
dition is  often  Adverse 
to  Virtue,      -  -    70 

47.  The  Trials  of  Virtue,      -    71 

48.  Travelling  over  the  Andes,     73 

49.  On  Discretion,  -        -    75 

50.  On  the  Government  of  our 
Thoughts,  -    77 

51.  Defence  of  Literary  Stud- 
ies in  Men  of  Business,      79 

52.  Force  of  Talents,     -        -    83 

53.  Character  of  Washington,     84 

54.  To  the  Eagle,  -    85 

55.  Extract  from  an  Address, 
by  Samuel  F.  Dickinson,    87 

56.  Song  of  Marion's  Men,    -     90 

57.  On  the  True  Honour  of 
Man,  -    91 

58.  The  Nature  of  True  Elo- 
quence, -        -        -    93 

59.  The  Education  of  the  Poor,  94 

60.  The  Love  of  Nature,        -    95 

61.  Domestick  Economy,       -    96 

62.  Scene  of  Misery,      -        -    98 

63.  History   of  the  English 

Language,     -        -        -    99 

64.  Evils  in  Female  Education,  101 

65.  March,  -  102 

66.  April,  -     103 

67.  Gen.  Washington  to  his 
Troops,       -        -        -    104 

68.  The  Indians,  -        -     105 

69.  Description  of  Winter,   -    107 

70.  Sketch  of  the  History  of 

Printing,  -     108 

I.     The  Rose,      -        -        -     111 


Vi 


CONTENTS. 


Lesson.  Page. 

72.  Schemes  of  Life  often  Illu- 

sory,    -  111 

73.  Death  of  Prince  William,    114 
*74.    He  Never  Smiled  Again,      ib. 

75.  Attraction,       -        -        -  115 

76.  America,  -        -        -  118 

77.  The  Torrid  and  Frigid 

Zones,  -        -        -        -  119 

78.  Religion,  -        -        -  120 

79.  Rural  Charms,         -        -  121 

80.  "Washington's  Love  to  his 

Mcther,         -        -        -  122 

81.  Portrait    of    a    Worldly 

Woman,        -        -        -  123 

82.  Elegy  to  Pity,  -        -  126 
•83.     Lines  on  the  Death  of  my 

much  loved  Infant,        -  127 

84.  The  Land  of  our  Birth,    -128 

85.  The  Dying  Man  to  his 

Watch,  -        -        -  129 

86.  The  Journey  of  a  Day. 

A    Picture   of  Human 
Life,      -        -        -        -  130 

87.  Steam-boats  on  the  Mis- 

sissippi,        -  133 

88.  Advantages  of  Studying 

History,         -  135 

89.  Diversity  in  the  Human 

Character,     -        -        -  137 

90.  The  Sleepers,  -        -        -  139 

91.  Cypress  Swamps  of  the 

Mississippi,  -  140 

92.  On  Visiting  a  Scene  of 

Childhood,    -        -        -  142 

93.  The  Old  Man's  Funeral,     143 

94.  Influence  of  the  Dead  on 

the  Living,    -  144 

95.  Catharina,  Emperess   of 

Russia,  -        -        -  145 

96.  May,       -        -        -        -  148 

97.  The  Autumn  Evening,    -  149 

98.  Cultivation  of  Moral  Taste,  150 
09.     The  Hermit,    -        -        -  152 

100.  Spirit  of  Freedom,    -        -  153 

101.  Character  of  a  Christian 

Mother,  -        -        -  154 

102.  Intelligence  of  the  People 

a  Means  of  Safety  to  the 
Government,  -        -  155 

103.  Landing  of  the  Pilgrim 

Fathers,         -        -        -  157 

104.  The  Hypocrite,        -        -  158 

105.  Mental  Improvement,       -  159 

106.  Thebiy^ken-heartedwoman,  161, 


Lesson.  Page. 

107.  Summer  Morning,   -        -  162 

108.  Nothing  Formed  in  Vain,    163 

109.  Description  of  Arabia,      -  164 

1 10.  Trust  in  the  Care  of  Provi- 

dence Recommended,     -  165 

111.  TheRespectduetoallMen,  167 

112.  Virtue  the  only  True  Hap- 

piness, -        -        -        -  168 

113.  The  Mutual  Relation  be- 

tween Sleep  and  Night,       i& 

114.  National  Glory,        -        -  170 

115.  A  Character  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  down  to  the  pe- 
riod of  his  Exile  to  Elba,       171 

1 16.  Account  of  the  Gluicksilver 

Mines  in  Idria,  in  Car- 
niola,  Germany,    -        -  174 

117.  A  Mother  to  her  Sleeping 

Infant,  -        -        -        -  178 

118.  Extract  from   an  Oration 

on  the  Virtues  of  General 
Washington,  pronounced 
the  8th  of  February ,  1800,  179 

119.  On  Plants,        -        -        -  180 

120.  Importance  of  Science  to  a 

Practical  Mechanick,     -  182 

121.  On  Early  Rising,     -        -  184 

122.  A    West    Indian    Land- 

scape,   -  185 

123.  Supposed  Speech  of  John 
Adams  in  favour  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence,     -  187 

124.  The  Western  Emigrant,      189 

125.  Notch  in  the  White  Mount- 

ains,     -  191 

126.  Government  of  the  People,  l!*> 

127.  Political  Economy,  -        -  196 

128.  Friendship,       -        -        -  197 

129.  The  Influence  of  an  Early 

Taste  for  Reading,         -  198 

130.  Alliance  between  Religion 

and  Liberty,  -        -  200 

131.  Providence  Vindicated  in 

the  Present  State  of  Man,  202 

132.  Speech  of  a  Creek  Indian, 

maCouncil  of  his  Nation, 
against  the  use  of  Spir- 
ituous Liquors,       -        -  203 

133.  Patience  under  Provoca- 
tions, our  Interest  as  well 
as  Duty,        -        -        -  205 

134.  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence,    -        -        -        -  206 


COBB'S   SEQUEL 


LESSON  t 

Education. 

1.  What  a  fine  acquirement;  how  productive  of  good,  and 
kow  replete  with  excellence  and  importance  to  man  is  educa* 
tion.  It  is  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  which  can  gild  his 
passage  through  this  world,  or  which  can  make  him  appear  to 
any  advantage  in  it.  It  places  within  his  reach  all  those  com- 
forts and  pleasures  which,  as  man,  he  can  possibly  enjoy,  and 
affords  him  an  opportunity  of  dissipating  the  clouds  of  igno- 
rance, and  thereby  contributing  to  the  welfare  of  his  fellow 
beings. 

2.  Education  leads  man  from  the  path  of  ignorance  into  that 
of  knowledge,  guides  his  reason  and  understanding,  restrains 
and  acts  as  a  rein  to  his  passions,  by  keeping  them  within  all 
due  and  proper  bounds.  It  teaches  him  to  contemn  and 
despise  the  meanness  of  the  ignorant;  to  look  down  with  indig- 
nation upon  their  presumption  and  self-sufficiency ;  to  treat 
with  cool  indifference  the  low  and  sordid  motives  by  which 
they  are  generally  actuated*  and  which  characterize  their  every 
action. 

3.  Education  is  an  acquisition  far  more  valuable  than  riches. 
The  man  of  wealth  is  liable,  through  the  vicissitudes  and 
changes  of  fortune*  to  lose  it,  and  to  be  reduced  to  poverty ; 
but  he  who  is  endowed  with,  and  possesses  education,  will 
never  be  deserted  by  it.  It  will  attend  him  as  well  in  adver* 
sity  as  in  prosperity  ;  it  will  follow  him  from  the  mansion  to 
the  hovel ;  will  accompany  him  when  mixing  among  the  cir- 
cles of  the  fashionable  and  great,  and  descend  with  him  to  the 
habitations  of  penury  and  distress. 

4.  Even  should  he  be  consigned  to  a  dungeon,  by  the  law- 
less band  of  oppression,  there,  also,  will  it  he  his  companion, 


8  Cobb's  sequel. 

cheering  and  consoling  him^  affording  him  fortitude  to  bear  his 
hapless  Tate  with  patience  and  resignation.  In  whatever  station 
of  Ike  man  is  placed,'  if  he  ha's  once  obtained  education  it  will 
always  attend  him,  whether  in  affluence  or  poverty,  greatness 
or  obscurity.  It  will  accompany  him  along  the  airy  path  of 
youth,  and  will  retire  with  him  beneath  the  evening  shade  of 
old  age,  cheering  and  enlivening  him,  and  rendering  the  last 
stage  of  his  existence  less  irksome  and  tedicus  than  it  other- 
wise would  be. 

5.  Education  may  be  ranked  as  one  of  the  most  valuable 
gifts  which  man  can  have  bestowed  upon  him ;  without  it  he 
passes  through  life  almost  unnoticed  and  disregarded ;  and 
not  having  a  mind  sufficiently  bright  to  guide  him,  is  subject 
to  ridicule,  and  is  obliged,  and  necessitated  to  be  wholly 
influenced  and  directed,  and  governed  by  those  who  have 
drank  of,  and  whose  minds  have  been  well  watered  and  culti- 
vated by  the  "  Pierian  Spring." 

6.  Under  the  influence  of  education,  civilization  is  intro- 
duced, by  which  governments  have  been  formed,  and  laws 
enacted  for  the  purpose  of  regulating  and  ruling  the  actions 
of  men;  a  social  and  regular  intercourse  established  between 
mankind,  which  has  a  tendency  to  render  them  of  mutual  and 
reciprocal  benefit  to  each  other. 

7.  What  would  the  world  be  without  civilization  ?  It  would 
be  without  regularity ;  it  would  present  a  sickening  picture  of 
confusion  and  tumult,  disorder  and  irregularity ;  some  of  the 
worst  and  most  pernicious  passions  would  be  gratified  without 
shame  or  restraint;  some  of  the  most  heinous  and  glaring 
crimes  would  be  committed  with  impunity;  dark  ignorance,  with 
all  its  tendencies  and  destructive  consequences,  would  prevail. 

8.  Without  civilization  man  would  be  sunk  in  the  lowest 
depths  of  barbarism;  he  would  be  upon  a  level  with  the  brute 
creation.  It  is  certain  that  through  the  medium  of  education, 
civilization  is  effected,  for  without  the  former,  the  latter  could 
not  be  properly  appreciated.  Surely  an  ignorant  man  could 
not  enumerate  the  many  benefits  and  blessings  consequent  to, 
and  attendant  on  a  civilized  state,  nor  point  out  the  many  dis- 
advantages and  inconveniences  which  follow  in  the  train  of 
an  uncivilized  one. 

9.  It  is,  therefore,  the  man  of  education,  and  only  him,  who 
can  point  out  to,  and  bring  before  the  view  of  his  uncivilized 
brother,  the  many  advantages  and  comforts  arising  out  of,  and 
flowing  from  humanized  society;  it  is  only  him  who  can  make 
the  inhabitant  of  the  forest  fully  sensible  of  the  numerous  dan- 
gers and  difficulties  to  which  his  mode  of  life  is  liable. 


cobb's  sequel.  9 

10.  To  education,  that  happy  and  beneficial  discovery,  navi- 
gation, owes  its  enlargement,  through  the  instrumentality  of 
which  the  luxuries  as  well  as  the  comforts  of  life  are  con- 
veyed :  by  which  we  gain  information  of  what  is  transacting 
in  other  climes*  and  which  brings  us  to  a  knowledge  of  what 
is  transpiring  in  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth.  To  edu- 
cation the  arts  and  sciences  owe  their  progress ;  without  its 
aid  they  never  would  have  arrived  at  their  present  height.  To 
education  may  be  attributed  that  useful,  valuable,  and  highly 
important  invention,  the  compass  ;  that  advantageous  science, 
which  enables  the  canvassed  pedestrian  to  travel  through 
ocean's  unbeaten  track,  bearing  on  its  bosom  the  superfluities, 
as  well  as  the  necessaries  of  man. 

11.  Education  dissipates  the  mists  of  bigotry,  and  places 
before  our  view,  truth  in  its  purest,  and  brightest,  and  most 
genuine  colours  ;  it  kindles  into  a  flame  that  innate  spark 
which  glimmers  in  the  bosom  of  every  human  being,  but  if  not 
fanned  by  education,  will  be  like  unpolished  marble ;  its  in- 
trinsick  beauty  will  never  be  known;  or,  like  some  unexplored 
mine,  its  value  cannot  be  estimated;  or,  like  the  great  illumi- 
nator of  the  world,  when  obscured  by  a  cloud,  its  magnificence 
and  splendour  are  hid,  and,  consequently,  cannot  be  duly  or 
rightly  appreciated. — Datanet. 


LESSON  II. 

Formation  of  Character. 

1.  It  is  ever  to  be  kept  in  mind,  that  a  good  name  is  in  all 
cases  the  fruit  of  personal  exertion.  It  is  not  inherited  from 
parents  ;  it  is  not  created  by  external  advantages  ;  it  is  no  ne- 
cessary appendage  of  birth,  or  wealth,  or  talents,  or  station ; 
but  the  result  of  one's  own  endeavours  ;  the  fruit  and  reward 
of  good  principles,  manifested  in  a  course  of  virtuous  and  hon- 
ourable action.  This  is  the  more  important  to  be  remarked, 
because  it  shows  that  the  attainment  of  a  good  name,  what- 
ever be  your  external  circumstances,  is  entirely  within  your 
power. 

2.  No  young  man,  however  humble  his  birth,  or  obscure  his 
condition,  is  excluded  from  the  invaluable  boon.  He  has  only 
to  fix  his  eye  upon  the  prize,  and  press  toward  it,  in  a  course 
of  virtuous  and  useful  conduct,  and  it  is  his.     And  it  is  interest- 


10  COBB'S    SEQUEL. 

ing  to  notice  how  many  of  our  worthiest  and  best  citizens  have 
risen  to  honour  and  usefulness  by  dint  of  their  own  perseve- 
ring exertions.  They  are  to  be  found,  in  great  numbers,  in 
each  of  the  learned  professions,  and  in  every  department  of 
business ;  and  they  stand  forth,  bright  and  animating  exam- 
ples of  what  can  be  accomplished  by  resolution  and  effort. 

3.  Indeed,  my  friends,  in  the  formation  of  character,  per- 
sonal exertion  is  the  first,  the  second,  and  the  third  virtue. 
Nothing  great  or  excellent  can  be  acquired  without  it.  A  good 
name  will  not  come  without  being  sought.  All  the  virtues  of 
which  it  is  composed  are  the  result  of  untiring  application  and 
industry.  Nothing  can  be  more  fatal  to  the  attainment  of  a 
good  character  than  a  treacherous  confidence  in  external  ad- 
vantages. These,  if  not  seconded  by  your  own  endeavours, 
"  will  drop  you  mid  way ;  or,  perhaps,  you  will1  not  have  start- 
ed, when  the  diligent  traveller  will  have  won  the  race." 

4.  To  the  formation  of  a  good  character,  it  is  of  the  highest 
importance  that  you  have  a  commanding  object  in  view,  and 
that  your  aim  in  life  be  elevated.  To  this  cause,  perhaps, 
more  than  to  any  other,  is  to  be  ascribed  the  great  difference 
which  appears  in  the  characters  of  men.  Some  start  in  life 
with  an  object  in  view,  and  are  determined  to  attain  it ;  while 
others  live  without  plan,  and  reach  not  for  the  prize  set  before 
them.  The  energies  of  the  one  are  called  into  vigorous  action, 
and  they  rise  to  eminence  ;  while  the  others  are  left  to  slum- 
ber in  ignoble  ease  and  sink  into  obscurity. 

5.  It  is  an  old  proverb,  that  he  who  aims  at  the  sun,  to  be 
sure  will  not  reach  it,  but  his  arrow  will  fly  higher  than  if  he 
aimed  at  an  object  on  a  level  with  himself.  Just  so  in  the  for- 
mation of  character.  Set  your  standard  high ;  and,  though 
you  may  not  reach  it,  you  can  hardly  fail  to  rise  higher  than  if 
you  aimed  at  some  inferiour  excellence.  Young  men  are  not, 
in  general,  conscious  of  what  they  are  capable  of  doing. 

6.  They  do  not  task  their  faculties,  nor  improve  their  pow- 
ers, nor  attempt,  as  they  ought,  to  rise  to  superiour  excellence. 
They  have  no  high,  commanding  object  at  which  to  aim  ;  but 
often  seem  to  be  passing  away  life  without  object  and  without 
aim.  The  consequence  is,  their  efforts  are  few  and  feeble ; 
they  are  not  waked  up  to  any  thing  great  or  distinguished ;  and, 
therefore,  fail  to  acquire  a  character  of  decided  worth. 

7.  My  friends,  you  may  be  whatever  you  resolve  to  be. 
Resolution  is  omnipotent.  Determine  that  you  will  be  some- 
thing in  the  world,  and  you  shall  be  something.  Aim  at  ex- 
cellence, and  excellence  will  be  attained.  This  is  the  great 
secret  of  effort  and  eminence.  /  cannot  do  it,  never  accom- 
plished any  thing  ;  1  will  try,  has  wrought  wonders. 


cobb's  sequel.  11 

8.  You  have  all,  perhaps,  heard  of  the  young  man,  who,  hav- 
ing wasted,  in  a  short  time,  a  large  patrimony,  in  profligate 
revels,  formed  a  purpose,  while  hanging  over  the  brow  of  a 
precipice  from  which  he  had  determined  to  throw  himself,  that 

ie  would  regain  what  he  had  lost.  The  purpose  thus  formed 
he  kept ;  and  though  he  began  by  shovelling  a  load  of  coals 
into  a  cellar,  he  proceeded  from  one  step  to  another,  till  he 
more  than  recovered  his  lost  possession,  and  died  an  inveterate 
miser,  worth  sixty  thousand  pounds. 

9.  I  mention  this,  not  as  an  example  to  be  imitated,  but  as  a 
signal  instance  of  what  can  be  accomplished  by  fixed  purpose 
and  persevering  exertion.  A  young  man  who  sets  out  in  life 
with  a  determination  to  excel,  can  hardly  fail  of  his  purpose. 
There  is,  in  his  case,  a  steadiness  of  aim  ;  a  concentration  of 
feeling  and  effort,  which  bear  him  onward  to  his  object  with 
irresistible  energy,  and  render  success,  in  whatever  he  under- 
takes, certain. — J.  Hawes. 


LESSON  III. 
Importance  of  Virtue. 

1.  Virtue  is  of  intrinsick  value,  and  good  desert,  and  of 
indispensable  obligation ;  not  the  creature  of  will,  but  neces- 
sary and  immutable  ;  not  local  or  temporary,  but  of  equal  ex- 
tent and  antiquity  with  the  Divine  mind  ;  not  a  mode  of  sen- 
sation, but  everlasting  truth ;  not  dependant  on  power,  but  the 
guide  of  all  power. 

2.  Virtue  is  the  foundation  of  honour  and  esteem,  and  the 
source  of  all  beauty,  order  and  happiness,  in  nature.  It  is  what 
confers  value  on  all  the  other  endowments  and  qualities  of  a 
reasonable  being,  to  which  they  ought  to  be  absolutely  subser- 
vient ;  and  without  which,  the  more  eminent  they  are,  the 
more  hideous  deformities,  and  the  greater  curses  they  become. 

3.  The  use  of  it  is  not  confined  to  any  one  stage  of  our  exist- 
ence, or  to  any  particular  situation  we  can  be  in,  but  reaches 
through  all  the  periods  and  circumstances  of  our  beings.  Many 
of  the  endowments  and  talents  we  now  possess,  and  of  which 
we  are  too  apt  to  be  proud,  will  cease  entirely  with  the  present 
state  ;  but  this  will  be  our  ornament  and  dignity,  in  every 
future  state,  to  which  we  may  be  removed. 

4.  Beauty  and  wit  will  die,  learning  will  vanish  away,  and 
all  the  arts  of  life  be  soon  forgot ;  but  virtue  will  remain  for- 


12  COBB'S    SEQUEL. 

ever.  This  unites  us  to  the  whole  rational  creation  ;  and  fits 
us  for  conversing  with  any  order  of  superiour  natures,  and  for  a 
place  in  any  part  of  God's  works.  It  procures  us  the  appro- 
bation and  love  of  all  wise  and  good  beings,  and  renders  them 
our  allies  and  friends. 

5.  But  what  is  of  unspeakably  greater  consequence,  is,  that 
it  makes  God  our  friend,  assimilates  and  unites  our  minds  to 
his,  and  engages  his  Almighty  power  in  our  defenee.  Superiour 
beings  of  all  ranks  are  bound  by  it,  no  less  than  ourselves.  It 
has  the  same  authority  in  all  worlds  that  it  has  in  this. 

6.  The  farther  any  being  is  advanced  in  excellence  and  per- 
fection, the  greater  is  his  attachment  to  it,  and  the  more  he  is 
under  its  influence.  To  say  no  more,  it  is  the  law  of  the  whole 
universe,  it  stands  first  in  the  estimation  of  the  Deity;  its 
original  is  his  nature,  and  it  is  the  very  object  that  makes  him 
lovely. 

7.  Such  is  the  importance  of  virtue.  Of  what  consequence, 
therefore,  is  it  that  we  practise  it  ?  There  is  no  argument  or 
motive,  in  any  respect  fitted  to  influence  a  reasonable  mind, 
which  does  not  call  us  to  this.  One  virtuous  disposition  of 
soul,  is  preferable  to  the  greatest  natural  accomplishments  and 
abilities,  and  of  more  value  than  all  the  treasures  of  the  world. 

8.  If  you  are  wise,  then  study  virtue,  and  contemn  every 
thing  that  can  come  in  competition  with  it.  Remember  that 
nothing  else  deserves  one  anxious  thought  or  wish.  Remem- 
ber that  this  alone  is  honour,  glory,  wealth,  and  happiness. 
Secure  this,  and  you  secure  every  thing.  Lose  this,  and  all  is 
lost. — Price. 


LESSON  IV. 

Industry  and  Application. 

1.  Diligence,  industry,  and  proper  application  of  time,  are 
material  duties  of  the  young.  To  no  purpose  are  they  en- 
dowed with  the  best  abilities,  if  they  want  activity  for  exerting 
them.  Unavailing  in  this  case,  will  be  every  direction  that  can 
be  given  them,  either  for  their  temporal  or  spiritual  welfare. 

2.  In  youth  the  habits  of  industry  are  most  easily  acquired  ; 
in  youth  the  incentives  to  it  are  strongest  from  ambition  and 
from  duty,  from  emulation  and  hop'>,  from  all  the  prospects 
which  the  beginning  of  life  affords.  If,  dead  to  these  calls,  you 
already  languish   in  slothful   inaction,  what  will  be  able  to 


cobb's  sequel.  13 

quicken  the  more  sluggish  current  of  advancing  years  ?  In 
dustry  is  not  only  the  instrument  of  improvement,  but  the 
foundation  of  pleasure. 

3.  Nothing  is  so  opposite  to  true  enjoyment  of  life,  as  the 
relaxed  and  feeble  state  of  an  indolent  mind.  He  who  is  a 
stranger  to  industry,  may  possess,  but  he  cannot  enjoy.  For 
it  is  labour  only  which  gives  the  relish  to  pleasure.  It  is  the 
appointed  vehicle  of  every  good  man.  It  is  the  indispensable 
condition  of  our  possessing  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body. 
Sloth  is  so  inconsistent  with  both,  that  it  is  hard  to  determine 
whether  it  be  a  greater  foe  to  virtue,  or  to  health  and  happi- 
ness.    Inactive  as  it  is  in  itself,  its  effects  are  fatally  powerful. 

4.  Though  it  appear  a  slowly  flowing  stream,  yet  it  under- 
mines all  that  is  stable  and  flourishing.  It  not  only  saps  the 
foundation  of  every  virtue,  but  pours  upon  you  a  deluge  of 
crimes  and  evils.  It  is  like  water,  which  first  putrefies  by 
stagnation,  and  then  sends  up  noxious  vapours,  and  fills  the 
atmosphere  with  death.  Fly,  therefore,  from  idleness,  as  the 
certain  parent  both  of  guilt  and  ruin. 

5.  And  under  idleness  I  include,  not  mere  inaction  only, 
but  all  that  circle  of  trifling  occupations  in  which  too  many 
saunter  away  their  youth;  perpetually  engaged  in  frivolous 
society  or  publick  amusements  ;  in  the  labours  of  dress,  or  the 
ostentation  of  their  persons.  Is  this  the  foundation  which  you 
lay  for  future  usefulness  and  esteem  ?  By  such  accomplish- 
ments do  you  hope  to  recommend  yourselves  to  the  thinking 
part  of  the  world,  and  to  answer  the  expectations  of  your 
friends  and  your  country  ? 

6.  Amusements  youth  require ;  it  were  vain,  it  were  cruel  to 
prohibit  them.  But  though  allowable  as  the  relaxation,  they 
are  most  culpable  as  the  business  of  the  young.  For  they 
then  become  the  gulf  of  time,  and  the  poison  of  the  mind. 
They  foment  bad  passions.  They  weaken  the  manly  pow- 
ers. They  sink  the  native  vigour  of  youth  into  contemptible 
effeminacy. 


LESSON  V. 

The  Kails  of  St.  Anthony. 

1.  From  the  common  propensity  of  travellers  to  exaggerate, 
the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  until  very  recently,  have  been  much 
overrated.     Instead  of  the  extravagant  estimates  of  the  first 


14     "  cobb's  sequel. 

French  writers,  or  even  the  fall  of  fifty  feet,  assigned  to  them 
by  more  modern  authorities,  the  real  fall  of  the  Mississippi, 
here,  is  between  sixteen  and  seventeen  feet  of  perpendicular 
descent.  Though  it  has  not  the  slightest  claim  to  compare 
with  Niagara  in  grandeur,  it  furnishes  an  impressive  and  beau- 
tiful spectacle  in  the  loneliness  of  the  desert. 

2.  The  adjoining  scenery  is  of  the  most  striking  and  ro- 
•nantick  character;  and,  while  the  traveller  listens  to  the  solemn 
roar  of  the  falls,  as  it  sinks  into  feeble  echoes  in  the  forests,  a 
thrilling  story  is  told  him  of  the  love  and  despair  of  a  young 
Dacota  Indian  woman,  who,  goaded  by  jealousy  toward  her 
husband,  that  had  taken  another  wife,  placed  her  young  chil- 
dren in  a  canoe,  and,  chanting  the  remembrances  of  love  and 
broken  vows,  precipitated  herself  and  her  infants  down  the 
falls. 

3.  Indians  are  always  romancers,  if  not  poets.  Their  tra- 
ditions say,  that  these  ill-fated  beings,  together  with  their 
canoe,  so  perished,  that  no  trace  of  them  was  seen.  But  they 
suppose,  that  her  spirit  wanders  still  near  this  spot,  and  that 
she  is  seen,  on  sunny  mornings,  carrying  her  babes,  in  the 
accustomed  manner,  bound  to  ner  bosom,  and  still  mourning 
the  inconstancy  of  her  husband. 


LESSON  VI. 
•  On  (xratitude, 

1.  There  is  not  a  more  pleasing  exercise  of  the  mind,  than 
gratitude.  It  is  accompanied  with  so  great  inward  satisfaction, 
that  the  duty  is  sufficiently  rewarded  by  the  performance.  It  is 
not,  like  the  practice  of  many  other  virtues,  difficult  and  pain- 
ful, but  attended  with  so  much  pleasure,  that  were  there  no 
positive  command  which  enjoined  it,  nor  any  recompense  laid 
up  for  it  hereafter,  a  generous  mind  would  indulge  in  it,  for 
the  natural  gratification  which  it  affords. 

2.  If  gratitude  is  due  from  man  to  man,  how  much  more 
from  man  to  his  Maker.  The  Supreme  Being  does  not  only 
confer  upon  us  those  bounties  which  proceed  more  immedi- 
ately from  his  hand,  but  even  those  benefits  which  are  con- 
veyed to  us  by  others.  Every  blessing  we  enjoy,  by  what 
means  soever  it  may  be  derived  tfpon  us,  is  the  gift  of  Him 
who  is  the  great  Author  of  good,  and  the  Father  of  mercies. 

3.  If  gratitude,  when  exerted  toward  one  another,  naturally 


cobb's  sequel.  15 

produces  a  very  pleasing  sensation  in  the  mind  of  a  grateful 
man,  it  exalts  the  soul  into  rapture,  when  it  is  employed  on 
this  great  object  of  gratitude  ;  on  this  beneficent  Being,  who 
has  given  us  every  thing  we  already  possess,  and  from  whom 
we  expect  every  thing  we  yet  hope  for. — Addison. 


LESSON  VIL 
The  Advantages  of  a  Taste  joi    Natural  History* 

1.  When  a  young  person  who  has  enjoyed  the  benefit  of  a 
liberal  education,  instead  of  leading  a  life  of  indolence,  dissi- 
pation, or  vice,  employs  himself  in  studying  the  marks  of  infi- 
nite wisdom  and  goodness  which  are  manifested  in  every  part 
of  the  visible  creation,  we  know  not  which  we  ought  most  to 
congratulate,  the  publick,  or  the  individual.  Self-taught  natu- 
ralists are  often  found  to  make  no  little  progress  in  knowl- 
edge, and  to  strike  out  many  new  lights,  by  the  mere  aid  of 
original  genius  and  patient  application. 

2.  But  the  well  educated  youth  engages  in  these  pursuits 
with  peculiar  advantage.  He  takes  more  comprehensive  views, 
is  able  to  consult  a  greater  variety  of  authors,  and,  from  the 
early  habits  of  his  mind,  is  more  accurate  and  more  methodi- 
cal in  all  his  investigations.  The  world  at  large,  therefore, 
cannot  fail  to  be  benefited  by  his  labours ;  and  the  value  of  the 
enjoyments,  which  at  the  same  time  he  secures  to  himself,  is 
beyond  all  calculation. 

3.  No  tedious,  vacant  hour  ever  makes  him  wish  for,  he 
knows  not  what ;  complain,  he  knows  not  why.  Never  does 
a  restless  impatience  at  having  nothing  to  do  compel  him  to 
seek  a  momentary  stimulus  to  his  dormant  powers,  in  the  tu- 
multuous pleasure  of  the  intoxicating  cup,  or  the  agitating  sus- 
pense of  the  game  of  chance.  Whether  he  be  at  home  or 
abroad,  in  every  different  clime,  and  in  every  season  of  the 
year,  universal  nature  is  before  him,  and  invites  him  to  a  ban- 
quet richly  replenished  with  whatever  can  invigorate  his  un- 
derstanding, or  gratify  his  mental  taste. 

4.  The  earth  on  which  he  treads,  the  air  in  which  he  moves, 
the  sea,  along  the  margin  of  which  he  walks,  all  teem  with 
objects  that  keep  his  attention  perpetually  awake,  excite  him 
to  healthful  activity,  and  charm  him  with  an  ever  varying  suc- 
cession of  the  beautiful,  the  wonderful,  the  useful,  and  the  new. 
And  if,  in  conformity  with  the  direct  tendency  ofsuchoccupa- 


16  cobb's  sequel. 

tions,  he  rises  from  the  creature  to  the  Creator,  and  considers 
the  duties  which  naturally  result  from  his  own  situation  and 
rank  in  this  vast  system  of  being,  he  will  derive  as  much  satis- 
faction from  the  anticipation  of  the  future,  as  from  the  experi- 
ence of  the  present,  and  the  recollection  of  the  past. 

5.  The  mind  of  the  pious  naturalist  is  always  cheerful,  al- 
ways animated  with  the  noblest  and  most  benign  feelings. 
Every  repeated  observation,  every  unexpected  discovery,  di- 
rects his  thoughts  to  the  great  Source  of  all  order,  and  all 
good ;  and  harmonizes  all  his  faculties  with  the  general  voice 
of  nature. 

"  The  men 
Whom  nature's  works  can  charm,  with  God  himself 
Hold  converse ;  grow  familiar,  day  by  day, 
With  his  conceptions ;  act  upon  his  plan, 
And  form  to  his  the  relish  of  their  souls." — Wood. 


LESSON  VIII. 

On  the  Importance  of  Order  in  the  Distribution  of  our  Time. 

1.  Time  we  ought  to  consider  as  a  sacred  trust  committed  to 
us  by  God  ;  of  which  we  are  now  the  depositaries,  and  are  to 
render  an  account  at  the  last.  That  portion  of  it  which  he 
has  allotted  to  us,  is  intended  partly  for  the  concerns  of  this 
world,  partly  for  those  of  the  next. 

2.  Let  each  of  these  occupy,  in  the  distribution  of  our  time, 
that  space  which  properly  belongs  to  it.  Let  not  the  hours  of 
hospitality  and  pleasure  interfere  with  the  discharge  of  our 
necessary  affairs  ;  and  let  not  what  we  call  necessary  affairs, 
encroach  upon  the  time  which  is  due  to  devotion.  To  every 
thing  there  is  a  season,  and  a  time  for  every  purpose  under  the 
heaven.  If  we  delay  till  to-morrow  what  ought  to  be  done  to- 
day, we  overcharge  the  morrow  with  a  burden  which  belongs 
not  to  it.  We  load  the  wheels  of  time,  and  prevent  them  from 
carrying  us  along  smoothly. 

3.  He  who  every  morning  plans  the  transactions  of  the  day, 
and  follows  out  that  plan,  carries  on  a  thread  which  will  guide 
him  through  the  labyrinth  of  the  most  busy  life.  The  orderly 
arrangement  of  his  time  is  like  a  ray  of  light,  which  darts  itself 
through  all  his  affairs.  But,  where  no  plan  is  laid,  where  the 
disposal  of  time  is  surrendered  merely  to  the  chance  of  inci- 


cobb's  sequel.  17 

tlents,  all  things  lie  huddled  together  in  one  chaos,  which  ad- 
mits neither  of  distribution  nor  review. 

4.  The  first  requisite  for  introducing  order  into  the  manage-* 
ment  of  time,  is  to  be  impressed  with  a  just  sense  of  its  value. 
Let  us  consider  well  how  much  depends  upon  it,  and  how  fast 
it  flies  away.  The  bulk  of  men  are  in  nothing  more  capri- 
cious and  inconsistent,  than  in  their  appreciation  of  time.  When 
they  think  of  it*  as  the  measure  of  their  continuance  on  earth, 
they  highly  prize  it,  and  with  the  greatest  anxiety  seek  to 
lengthen  it  out. 

5.  But  when  they  view  it  in  separate  parcels',  they  appear 
to  hold  it  in  contempt,  and  squander  it  with  inconsiderate  pro- 
fusion. While  they  complain  that  life  is  short,  they  are  often 
wishing  its  different  periods  at  an  end.  Covetous  of  every 
other  possession,  of  time  only  they  are  prodigal.  They  allow 
every  idle  man  to  be  master  of  this  property,  and  make  every 
frivolous  occupation  welcome  that  can  help  them  to  consume  it. 

6.  Among  those  who  are  so  careless  of  time,  it  is  not  to  "be 
expected  that  order  should  be  observed  in  its  distribution.  But, 
by  this  fatal  neglect,  how  many  materials  of  severe  and  lasting 
regret  are  they  laying  up  in  store  for  themselves  !  The  time 
which  they  suffer  to  pass  away  in  the  midst  of  confusion,  bitter 
repentance  seeks  afterward  in  vain  to  recall.  What  was 
omitted  to  be  done  at  its  proper  moment,  arises  to  be  the  tor- 
ment of  some  future  season. 

7.  Manhood  is  disgraced  by  the  consequences  of  neglected 
youthk  Old  age,  oppressed  by  cares  that  belonged  to  a  former 
period,  labours  under  a  burden  not  its  own.  At  the  close  of 
life,  the  dying  man  beholds  with  anguish  that  his  days  are  fin- 
ishing, when  his  preparation  for  eternity  is  hardly  commenced* 
Such  are  the  effects  of  a  disorderly  waste  of  time,  through  not 
attending  to  its  value.  Every  thing  in  the  life  of  such  persons 
is  misplaced.  Nothing  is  performed  aright,  from  not  being 
performed  in  due  season". 

8.  But  he  who  is  orderly  in  the  distribution  of  his  time,  takes 
the  proper  method  of  escaping  those  manifold  evils.  He  is 
justly  said  to  redeem  the  time.  By  proper  management,  he 
prolongs  it.  He  lives  much  in  little  space ;  more  in  a  few 
years  than  others  do  in  many.  He  can  live  to  God  and  his 
own  soul,  and  at  the  same  time  attend  to  all  the  lawful  interests 
of  the  present  world.  He  looks  back  on  the  past,  and  provides 
for  the  future. 

9.  He  catches  and  arrests  the  hours  as  they  fly.  They  are 
marked  down  for  useful  purposes,  and  their  memory  remains. 
Whereas  those  hours  fleet  by  the  man  of  confusion  like  a 

2* 


18  cobb's  sequel. 

shadow.  His  days  and  years  are  either  blanks,  of  which  he  has 
no  remembrance,  or  they  are  filled  up  with  so  confused  and 
irregular  a  succession  of  unfinished  transactions,  that  though 
he  remembers  he  has  been  busy,  yet  he  can  give  no  account 
of  the  business  which  has  employed  him. — Blair. 


LESSON  IX. 

•  Cultivation  of  Memory. 

1.  Memory  implies  two  things  :  first,  a  capacity  of  retain* 
ing  knowledge;  and,  secondly,  a  power  of  recalling  that  knowl- 
edge to  our  thoughts  when  we  have  occasion  to  apply  it  to 
use.  When  we  speak  of  a  retentive  memory,  we  use  it  in  the 
former  sense  ;  when  of  a  ready  memory,  in  the  latter.  With- 
out memory,  there  can  be  neither  knowledge,  arts,  nor  sci- 
ences ;  nor  any  improvement  of  mankind  in  virtue,  or  morals, 
or  the  practice  of  religion.  Without  memory,  the  soul  of  man 
would  be  but  a  poor,  destitute,  naked  being,  with  an  everlast- 
ing blank  spread  over  it,  except  the  fleeting  ideas  of  the 
present  moment. 

2.  There  is  one  great  and  general  direction,  which  belongs 
to  the  improvement  of  other  powers  as  well  as  of  the  memory, 
and  that  is,  to  keep  it  always  in  due  and  proper  exercise. 
Many  acts  by  degrees  form  a  habit,  and  thereby  the  capacity 
or  power  is  strengthened  and  made  more  retentive  and  ready. 
Due  attention  and  diligence  to  learn  and  know  the  things 
which  we  would  commit  to  our  remembrance,  is  a  rule  of  great 
necessity.  There  are  some  persons,  wrho  complain  they  can- 
not remember  what  they  hear,  when,  in  truth,  their  thoughts 
are  wandering  half  the  time,  or  they  hear  with  such  coldness 
and  indifference,  and  a  trifling  temper  of  spirit,  that  it  is  no 
wonder  the  things  which  are  read  or  spoken  make  but  a  slight 
impression,  and  soon  vanish  and  are  lost.  If  we  would  retain 
a.  long  remembrance  of  the  things  which  we  read,  or  hear,  we 
should  engage  our  delight  and  pleasure  in  those  subjects,  and 
use  proper  methods  to  fix  the  attention.  Sloth  and  idleness 
will  no  more  bless  the  mind  with  intellectual  riches,  than  they 
will  fill  the  hand  with  gain,  the  field  with  corn,  or  the  purse 
"with  treasure. 

3.  Some  persons  are  conceited  of  their  abilities,  and  trust  so 
much  to  an  acuteness  of  parts  denominated  genius,  that  they 
think  it  superfluous  labour  to  make  any  provision  beforehand 


cobb's  sequel,  19 

and  they  sit  still,  therefore,  satisfied  without  endeavouring  to 
store  their  understanding  with  knowledge.  Such  should  re- 
member that  we  are  born  ignorant  of  every  thing.  God  has 
made  the  intellectual  world  harmonious  and  beautiful  without 
us ;  but  it  will  never  come  into  our  heads  all  at  once ;  we  must 
bring  it  home  by  degrees,  and  there  set  it  up  by  our  own  in- 
dustry, or  we  shall  have  nothing  but  darkness  and  chaos  with- 
in, whatever  order  and  light  there  may  be  in  things  without  us. 
4.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  depress  their  own  minds,  de- 
spond at  the  first  difficulty,  and  conclude  that  getting  an  insight 
in  any  of  the  sciences,  or  making  any  progress  in  knowledge, 
farther  than  serves  their  ordinary  business,  is  above  their  ca- 
pacities. The  proper  remedy  here  is  to  set  the  mind  to  work, 
and  apply  the  thoughts  vigorously  to  the  business;  for  it  holds 
in  the  struggles  of  the  mind,  as  in  those  of  war;  a  persuasion 
that  we  shall  overcome  any  difficulties  that  we  may  meet  with 
in  the  sciences,  seldom  fails  to  carry  us  through  them.  Nobody 
knows  the  strength  of  his  mind,  and  the  force  of  steady  and 
regular  application,  until  he  has  tried. 

5.      All  things  are  open  to  the  searching  eye 
Of  an  attentive  intellect,  and  bring 
Their  several  treasures  to  it,  and  unfold 
Their  fabrick  to  its  scrutiny.     All  life, 
And  all  inferiour  orders,  in  the  waste 
Of  being  spread  before  us,  are  to  him, 
Who  lives  in  meditation,  and  the  search 
Of  wisdom  and  of  beauty,  open  books, 
Wherein  he  reads  the  Godhead,  and  the  ways 
He  works  through  his  creation,  and  the  links 
That  fasten  us  to  all  things,  with  a  sense 
Of  fellowship  and  feeling ;   so  that  we 
Look  not  upon  a  cloud,  or  falling  leaf, 
Or  flower  new  blown,  or  human  face  divine, 
But  we  have  caught  new  life,  and  wider  thrown 
The  door  of  reason  open,  and  have  stored 
In  memory's  secret  chamber,  for  dark  years 
Of  age  and  weariness,  the  food  of  thought, 
And  thus  extended  mind,  and  made  it  young, 
When  the  thin  hair  turns  gray,  and  feeling  dies. 

Percivaj~ 


30  cobb's  SEQUEL* 

LESSON  X. 

On  the  Beauties  of  the  Psalms. 

1.  Greatness  confers  no  exemption  from  the  cares  and  sor* 
rows  of  life  :  its  share  of  them  frequently  bears  a  melancholy 
proportion  to  its  exaltation.  This  the  monarch  of  Israel  ex* 
perienced.  He  sought  in  piety,  that  peace  which  he  could  not 
find  in  empire :  and  alleviated  the  disquietudes  of  state,  with 
the  exercises  of  devotion.  His  invaluable  Psalms  convey 
those  comforts  to  others,  which  they  afforded  to  himself. 

2.  Composed  upon  particular  occasions,  yet  designed  for 
general  use ;  delivered  out  as  services  for  Israelites  under  the 
Law,  yet  no  less  adapted  to  the  circumstances  of  Christians 
under  the  Gospel ;  they  present  religion  to  us  in  the  most  en* 
gaging  dress ;  communicating  truths  which  philosophy  could 
never  investigate,  in  a  style  which  poetry  can  never  equal ; 
while  history  is  made  the  vehicle  of  prophecy,  and  creation 
lends  all  its  charms  to  paint  the  glories  of  redemption. 

3.  Calculated  alike  to  profit  and  to  please,  they  inform  the 
Understanding,  elevate  the  affections,  and  entertain  the  imagin* 
ation.  Endited  under  the  influence  of  Him,  to  whom  all  hearts 
are  known,  and  all  events  foreknown,  they  suit  mankind  in  all 
situations;  grateful  as  the  manna  which  descended  from  above, 
and  conformed  itself  to  every  palate. 

4.  The  fairest  productions  of  human  wit,  after  a  few  perusals* 
like  gathered  flowers,  wither  in  our  hands,  and  lose  their  fra- 
grance t  but  these  unfading  plants  of  Paradise  become,  as  we 
are  accustomed  to  them,  still  more  and  more  beautiful ;  their 
bloom  appears  to  be  daily  heightened ;  fresh  odours  are 
emitted,  and  new  sweets  extracted  from  them.  He  who  has 
once  tasted  their  excellences,  will  desire  to  taste  them  again  ; 
and  he  who  tastes  them  oftenest,  will  relish  them  best. 

5.  And  now,  could  the  author  flatter  himself,  that  any  one 
would  take  half  the  pleasure  in  reading  his  work,  which  he  has 
taken  in  writing  it,  he  would  not  fear  the  loss  of  his  labour. 
The  employment  detached  him  from  the  bustle  and  hurry  of 
life,  the  din  of  politicks,  and  the  noise  of  folly.  Vanity  and 
vexation  flew  away  for  a  season :  care  and  disquietude  came 
not  near  his  dwelling*  He  arose,  fresh  as  the  morning,  to 
his  task ;  the  silence  of  the  night  invited  him  to  pursue  it : 
and  he  can  truly  say*  that  food  and  rest  were  not  preferred 
before  it* 


cobb's  sequel.  21 

6.  Every  psalm  improved  infinitely  upon  his  acquaintance 
with  it,  and  no  one  gave  him  uneasiness  but  the  last ;  for  then 
he  grieved  that  his  work  was  done.  Happier  hours  than  those 
which  have  been  spent  in  these  meditations  on  the  songs  of 
Sion,  he  never  expects  to  see  in  this  world.  Very  pleasantly 
did  they  pass  ;  they  moved  smoothly  and  swiftly  along :  for 
when  thus  engaged,  he  counted  no  time.  They  are  gone,  but 
they  have  left  a  relish  and  a  fragrance  upon  the  mind ;  and  the 
remembrance  of  them  is  sweet. — Horne. 


LESSON  XL 

The  Glory  of  New  England,  her  Free  Schools. 

Extract  from  Judge  Story's  Discourse  before  the  Essex  Historical  Society, 
September  18,  1828. 

1.  I  know  not,  my  friends,  what  more  munificent  donation 
any  government  can  bestow,  than  by  providing  instruction  at 
the  publick  expense*  not  as  a  scheme  of  charity,  but  of  munici- 
pal policy.  If  a  private  person  deserves  the  applause  of  all 
good  men,  who  founds  a  single  hospital  or  college,  how  much 
more  are  they  entitled  to  the  appellation  of  publick  benefactors, 
who  by  the  side  of  every  church,  in  every  village,  plant  a  school 
of  letters.  Other  monuments  of  the  art  and  genius  of  man 
may  perish  ;  but  these  from  their  very  nature  seem,  as  far  as  hu- 
man foresight  can  go,  absolutely  immortal. 

2.  The  triumphal  arches  of  other  days  have  fallen ;  the 
sculptured  columns  have  crumbled  into  dust ;  the  temples  of 
taste  and  religion  have  sunk  into  decay ;  the  pyramids  them- 
selves seem  but  mighty  sepulchres  hastening  to  the  same 
oblivion  to  which  the  dead  they  cover  long  since  passed.  But 
here,  every  successive  generation  becomes  a  living  memo- 
rial of  our  publick  schools,  and  a  living  example  of  their 
excellence. 

3.  Never,  never  may  this  glorious  institution  be  abandoned 
or  betrayed  by  the  weakness  of  its  friends,  or  the  power  of 
its  adversaries.  It  can  scarcely  be  abandoned  or  betrayed, 
while  New  England  remains  free,  and  her  representatives  are 
true  to  their  trust.  It  must  for  ever  count  in  its  defence  a  ma- 
jority of  all  those,  who  ought  to  influence  publick  affairs  by 
their  virtues  or  their  talents ;  for  it  must  be,  that  here  they  first 
felt  the  divinity  of  knowledge  stir  within  them. 

4.  What  consolation  can  be  higher,  what  reflection  prouder, 


££  Cobb's  sequel. 

than  the  thought,  that  in  weal  and  in  wo,  our  children  are 
ander  the  publick  guardianship,  and  may  here  gather  the  fruits 
of  that  learning  which  ripens  for  eternity. 


LESSON  XII. 

The  Epitcvph. 

1.  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  earth, 

A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown  $ 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 

And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own* 

2.  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere : 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send  : 
He  gave  to  misery  all  he  had,  a  tear ; 
He  gained  from  heaven,  'twas  all  he  wished,  a  friend. 

3.  No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode ; 
(There  they,  alike,  in  trembling  hope,  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. — Gray. 


LESSON  XIII. 
The  Goodness  of  Providence, 

1.  The  Lord  my  pasture  shall  prepare, 
And  feed  me  with  a  shepherd's  care ; 
His  presence  shall  my  wants  supply, 
And  guard  me  with  a  watchful  eye ; 
My  noon-day  walks  he  shall  attend, 
And  all  my  midnight  hours  defend. 

2.  When  in  the  sultry  glebe  I  faint, 
Or  on  the  thirsty  mountains  pant ; 
To  fertile  vales,  and  dewy  meads, 
My  weary  wand'ring  steps  he  leads : 
Where  peaceful  rivers,  soft  and  slow, 
Amid  the  verdant  landscape  flow. 


COBB'S    SEQ.UEL.  23 

Though  in  the  paths  of  death  I  tread, 
With  gloomy  honours  overspread, 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  fear  no  ill ; 
For  thou,  O  Lord,  art  with  me  still : 
Thy  friendly  crook  shall  give  me  aid, 
And  guide  me  through  the  dreadful  shade. 

,  Though  in  a  bare  and  rugged  way, 
Through  devious  lonely  wilds  I  stray, 
Thy  bounty  shall  my  pains  beguile ; 
The  barren  wilderness  shall  smile, 
With  sudden  greens  and  herbage  crowned, 
And  streams  shall  murmur  all  around. — Addison. 


LESSON  XIV. 
The  Thunder-storm. 

1.  Deep,  fiery  clouds  o'ercast  the  sky, 

Dead  stillness  reigns  in  air ; 
There  is  not  even  a  breeze,  on  high 
The  gossamer  to  bear. 

2.  The  woods  are  hushed,  the  waters  rest, 

The  lake  is  dark  and  still, 
Reflecting,  on  its  shadowy  breast, 
Each  form  of  rock  and  hill. 

3.  The  lime-leaf  waves  not  in  the  grove, 

Nor  rose-tree  in  the  bower ; 
The  birds  have  ceased  their  songs  of  love, 
Awed  by  the  threatening  hour. 

4.  'Tis  noon ;  yet  nature's  calm  profound 

Seems  as  at  midnight  deep ; 
But,  hark !  what  peal  of  awful  sound 
Breaks  on  creation's  sleep  ? 

5.  The  thunder  bursts !  its  rolling  might 

Seems  the  firm  hills  to  shake ; 

And,  in  terrifick  splendour  bright, 

The  gathered  lightnings  break. 


24  cobb's  sequel. 

6.  Yet  fear  not,  shrink  not,  thou,  my  child  t 

Though,  by  the  bolt's  descent, 
Were  the  tall  cliffs  in  ruins  piled, 
And  the  wide  forests  rent. 

7.  Doth  not  thy  God  behold  thee  still, 

With  all-surveying  eye  ? 
Doth  not  his  power  all  nature  fill, 
Around,  beneath,  on  high? 

8.  Know,  hadst  thou  eagle-pinions,  free 

To  track  the  realms  of  air, 
Thou  couldst  not  reach  a  spot  where  He 
Would  not  be  with  thee  there ! 

9.  In  the  wide  city's  peopled  towers, 

On  the  vast  ocean's  plains, 
'Mid  the  deep  woodland's  loneliest  bowers, 
Alike,  the  Almighty  reigns  ! 

10.  Then  fear  not,  though  the  angry  sky 
A  thousand  darts  should  cast : 
Why  should  we  tremble,  e'en  to  die, 

And  be  with  Him  at  last  ? — Mrs.  Hem-ans. 


LESSON  XV. 
A  Suspicious  Temper  the  Source  of  Misery  to  its  Possessor. 

1.  As  a  suspicious  spirit  is  the  source  of  many  crimes  and 
calamities  in  the  world,  so  it  is  the  spring  of  certain  misery  to 
the  person  who  indulges  it.  His  friends  will  be  few;  and  small 
will  be  his  comfort  in  those  whom  he  possesses.  Believing 
others  to  be  his  enemies,  he  will  of  course  make  them  such. 
Let  his  caution  be  ever  so  great,  the  asperity  of  his  thoughts  will 
often  break  out  in  his  behaviour ;  and  in  return  for  suspecting 
and  hating,  he  will  incur  suspicion  and  hatred. 

2.  Besides  the  external  evils  which  he  draws  upon  himself, 
arising  from  alienated  friendship,  broken  confidence,  and  open 
enmity,  the  suspicious  temper  itself  is  one  of  the  worst  evils 
which  any  man  can  suffer.  If  "  in  all  fear  there  is  torment,'* 
how  miserable  must  be  his  state,  who,  by  living  in  perpetual 
jealousy,  Jives  in  perpetual  dread  ! 


cobb's  sequel,  ^5 

3.  Looking  upon  himself  to  be  surrounded  with  spies,  ene* 
mies,  and  designing  men,  he  is  a  stranger  to  reliance  and  trust, 
He  knows  not  to  whom  to  open  himself.  He  dresses  his  coun* 
tenance  in  forced  smiles,  while  his  heart  throbs  within  from 
apprehensions  of  secret  treachery.  Hence,  fretfulness  and  ill- 
humour,  disgust  at  the  world,  and  all  the  painful  sensations 
of  an  irritated  and  imbittered  mind. 

4.  So  numerous  and  great  are  the  evils  arising  from  a 
suspicious  disposition,  that,  of  the  two  extremes,  it  is  more 
eligible  to  expose  ourselves  to  occasional  disadvantage  from 
thinking  too  well  of  others,  than  to  suffer  continual  misery 
by  thinking  always  ill  of  them.  It  is  better  to  be  sometimes 
imposed  upon,  than  never  to  trust,  Safety  is  purchased  at 
too  dear  a  rate,  when,  in  order  to  secure  it,  we  are  obliged  to 
be  always  clad  in  armour,  and  to  live  in  perpetual  hostility 
with  our  fellows. 

5.  This  is,  for  the  sake  of  living,  to  deprive  ourselves  of  the 
comfort  of  life.  The  man  of  candour  enjoys  his  situation,  what- 
ever it  is,  with  cheerfulness  and  peace.  Prudence  directs  his 
intercourse  with  the  world ;  but  no  black  suspicions  haunt  his 
hours  of  rest.  Accustomed  to  view  the  characters  of  his  neigh- 
bours in  the  most  favourable  light,  he  is  like  one  who  dwells 
amid  those  beautiful  scenes  of  nature,  on  which  the  eye  rests 
with  pleasure. 

6.  Whereas  the  suspicious  man,  having  his  imagination  filled 
with  all  the  shocking  forms  of  human  falsehood,  deceit,  and 
treachery,  resembles  the  traveller  in  the  wilderness,  who  dis* 
cerns  no  objects  around  him  but  such  as  are  either  dreary  or 
terrible ;  caverns  that  open,  serpents  that  hiss,  and  beasts  of 
prey  that  hPwl.^-B^AjR, 


LESSON  XVI. 
Self-knowledge. 

1.  If  we  would  judge  ourselves,  we  should  not  be  judged. 
Let  us  consider  the  difficulty,  the  advantages,  and  the  means 
of  forming  a  correct  estimate  of  ourselves.  The  portions  of 
our  character,  which  it  most  concerns  us  to  understand  aright, 
are,  the  extent  of  our  powers,  and  the  motives  of  our  conduct, 
But,  on  these  subjects,  every  thing  conspires  to  deceive  us. 

2.  No  man,  in  the  first  place,  can  pome  to  the  examination, 
of  hirnseJf  with  perfect  impartiality,     His  wishes  are  alj  neceg. 

3 


26  coiiis's  si: quel. 

sarily  engaged  on  his  own  side  ;  and,  though  he  may  place  the 
weights  in  the  balance  with  perfect  fairness  and  accuracy,  he 
places  them  in  scales  unequally  adjusted.  He  is,  at  once,  the 
criminal,  the  accuser,  the  advocate,  the  witness,  and  the  judge. 

3.  Another  difficulty,  which  prevents  our  passing  a  correct 
judgement  on  our  own  characters,  is,  that  we  can  always  find 
excuses  for  ourselves,  which  no  other  person  can  suspect. 
The  idea  of  possessing  an  excuse,  which  it  would  be  improper 
to  communicate  to  others,  is  consolatory  beyond  expression. 

4.  Frivolous  as  the  apology  may  be,  it  appears  satisfactory, 
because,  while  no  one  knows  its  existence,  no  one  can  dispute 
its  value.  From  repeated  failures  in  any  undertaking,  few  men 
learn  their  own  incapacity ;  because  success  depends  upon 
such  a  concurrence  of  circumstances,  minute  as  they  are  nu- 
merous, chat  it  is  much  easier  to  lament  the  blameless  omission 
of  something,  which  would  have  ensured  success,  than  to  look 
full  in  the  face  our  own  deficiencies. 

5.  It  is  the  same  with  the  opinions  we  form  of  our  moral 
worth.  The  motives,  which  co-operate  in  producing  almost 
every  action,  are  so  various  and  almost  imperceptible,  that,  in 
contemplating  our  conduct,  we  can  select  those  that  are  hon- 
ourable, and  assign  them  that  influence  afterward,  which  they 
ought  to  have  had  before.  By  frequently  defending,  also,  the 
purity  of  our  motives,  we  learn,  at  last,  to  believe  that  they 
are  precisely  what  they  ought  to  be ;  and  mistake  the  eloquence 
of  self-apology  for  the  animation  of  conscious  integrity. 

6.  Another,  and  very  essential  cause  of  our  ignorance  of 
ourselves,  is,  that  few  men  venture  to  inform  us  of  our  real 
character.  We  are  flattered,  even  from  our  cradles.  The 
caresses  of  parents,  and  the  blandishments  of  friends,  trans- 
mute us  into  idols.  A  man  must  buffet  long  with  the  world, 
ere  he  learns  to  estimate  himself  according  to  his  real  impor- 
tance in  society.  He  is  obliged  to  unlearn  much  of  what  he 
has  been  told  by  those,  who,  in  flattering  him,  have  long  been 
used  to  flatter  themselves. 

7.  And  when,  at  last,  he  learns  to  compare  himself  with 
others,  to  correct  his  false  estimates,  and  to  acquiesce  in  the 
rank  which  society  assigns  him,  he  is  assisted,  not  by  the  kind 
admonitions  of  friends,  not  by  the  instructions  of  those  who 
take  an  affectionate  interest  in  his  character;  but  he  must 
gather  it  from  the  cold  indifference  of  some,  from  the  contempt 
and  scorn  of  others  ;  he  must  be  taught  it  by  the  bittern  ess«of 
disappointment,  and  the  rudeness  of  superiority,  or  the  smiles 
of  exulting  malice. 

8.  This  leads  us  to  the  last  difficulty  which  we  shall  men- 


cobb's  sequel.  27 

tion,  as  preventing  our  forming  a  correct  estimate  of  our  own 
characters.  We  fondly  imagine,  that  no  one  can  know  us  as 
well  as  we  know  ourselves ;  and  that  every  man  is  interested 
to  depreciate,  even  when  he  knows  the  worth  of  another. 
Hence,  when  reproved,  we  cannot  admit,  that  we  have  acted 
amiss. 

9.  It  is  much  more  easy  to  conclude,  that  we  have  been 
misrepresented  by  envy,  or  misunderstood  by  prejudice,  than 
to  believe  in  our  ignorance,  incapacity,  or  guilt.  Nothing, 
also,  more  directly  tends  to  swell  into  extravagance  a  man's 
opinion  of  his  moral  or  intellectual  worth,  than  to  find,  that 
his  innocence  has,  in  any  instance,  been  falsely  accused,  or  his 
powers  inadequately  estimated. 

10.  In  short,  unless  a  person  has  been  long  accustomed  to 
compare  himself  with  others,  to  scrutinize  the  motives  of  his 
conduct,  to  meditate  on  the  occurrences  of  his  life,  to  listen  to, 
nay,  even  to  court  the  admonitions  of  the  wise  and  good,  and 
to  hearken  to  the  language  of  calumny  itself,  he  may  pass 
through  life  intimate  with  every  heart  but  that  which  beats  in 
his  own  bosom,  a  stranger  in  no  mansion  so  much  as  his  own 
breast. — Buckminster. 


LESSON  XVII. 

The  Sleep  of  tlie  Brave. 

1.      How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blessed ! 
When  Spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould, 
She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 
Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

2.  By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung, 
By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung ; 
There  Honour  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay ; 
And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair, 
To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there ! — Collins* 


cobb's  sequel 

Lesson  xviiL 

Home. 

1,  Where  burns  the  loved  hearth  brightest* 

Cheering  the  social  breast  ? 
Where  beats  the  fond  heart  lightest* 

Its  humble  hopes  possessed  ? 
Where  is  the  smile  of  sadness, 

Of  meek-eyed  patience  born, 
Worth  more  than  those  of  gladness 

Which  mirth's  bright  cheek  adorn  t 
Pleasure  is  marked  by  fleetness, 

To  those  who  ever  roam ; 
While  grief  itself  has  sweetness 

At  Home  !  dear  home  ! 

&.  There  blend  the  ties  that  strengthen 

Our  hearts  in  hours  of  grief, 
The  silver  links  that  lengthen 

Joy'g  visits  when  most  brief; 
There  eyes,  in  all  their  splendour, 

Are  vocal  to  the  heart, 
And  glances,  gay  or  tender, 

Fresh  eloquence  impart ; 
Then  dost  thou  sigh  for  pleasure  ! 

Oh  !  do  not  widely  roam  ; 
6ut  seek  that  hidden  treasure 

At  Home !  dear  home ! 

3.  Does  pure  religion  charm  theft 

Far  tnore  than  aught  below  f 
Wouldst  thou  that  she  should  arm  thee 

Against  the  hour  of  wo  ? 
Think  not  she  dwelleth  only 

In  temples  built  for  prayer ; 
tor  Home  itself  is  lonely 

Unless  her  smiles  be  there ; 
The  devotee  may  falter, 

The  bigot  blindly  roam  ; 
If  worshipless  her  altar 
At  Home  !  dear  home  ! 


cobb\s  sequel.  29 

,  Love  over  it  presideth, 

With  meek  and  watchful  awe, 
Its  daily  service  guideth, 

And  shows  its  perfect  law ; 
If  there  thy  faith  shall  fail  thee, 

If  there  no  shrine  be  found, 
What  can  thy  prayers  avail  thee, 

With  kneeling  crowds  around  1 
Go  !  leave  thy  gift  unofFered 

Beneath  Religion's  dome, 
And  be  her  first-fruits  proffered 

At  Home  !  dear  home  ! 

Bernard  Barton. 


LESSON  XIX. 

The  Liberty  of  the  Press. 

1.  Where  the  press  is  free  and  discussion  unrestrained,  the 
mind,  by  the  collision  of  intercourse,  gets  rid  of  its  own  as- 
perities, a  sort  of  insensible  perspiration  takes  place  in  the 
body  politick,  by  which  those  acrimonies,  which  would  other- 
wise fester  and  inflame,  are  quietly  dissolved  and  dissipated. 
But  now,  if  any  aggregate  assembly  shall  meet,  they  are  cen- 
sured ;  if  a  printer  publishes  their  resolutions  he  is  punished. 
Rightly  to  be  sure  in  both  cases,  for  it  has  been  lately  done. 

2.  If  the  people  say,  let  us  not  create  tumult,  but  meet  in 
delegation,  they  cannot  do  it ;  if  they  are  anxious  to  promote 
parliamentary  reform  in  that  way,  they  cannot  do  it ;  the  law  of 
the  last  session  has,  for  the  first  time,  declared  such  meetings  to 
be  a  crime.  What  then  remains  ?  The  liberty  of  the  press 
only;  that  sacred  palladium,  which  no  influence,  no  power,  no 
minister,  no  government,  which  nothing  but  the  depravity,  or 
folly,  or  corruption  of  a  jury,  can  ever  destroy. 

3.  And  what  calamities  are  the  people  saved  from  by  having 
publick  communication  left  open  to  them  1  I  will  tell  you, 
gentlemen,  what  they  are  saved  from,  and  what  the  government 
is  saved  from ;  I  will  tell  you  also  to  what  both  are  exposed 
by  shutting  up  that  communication. 

4.  In  one  case  sedition  speaks  aloud,  and  walks  abroad  ;  the 
demagogue  goes  forth ;  the  publick  eye  is  upon  him  ;  he  frets 
his  busy  hour  upon  the  stage ;  but  soon,  either  weariness,  or 
bribe,  or  punishment,  or  disappointment,  bears  him  down,  or 

3* 


30  fcOBB's   SEQUEL 

drives  him  off,  and  he  appears  no  more,     tri  the  other  tfase'* 
how  does  the  work  of  sedition  go  forward  ? 

5.  Night  after  night  the  muffled  rebel  steals  forth  in  the  dark* 
and  tfasts  another  and  another  brand  upon  the  pile,  to  which, 
when  the  hour  of  fatal  maturity  shall  arrive,  he  will  apply  the 
flamed  t  If  you  doubt  of  the  horrid  consequences  of  suppressing 
the"  effusion  of  individual  discontent*  look  to  those  enslaved 
countries  where  the  protection  of  despotism  iS  supposed  to  be 
secured  by  such  restraints. 

6.  Even  the  person  of  the  despot  there  is  never  in  safety. 
Neither  the  fears  of  the  despot,  nor  the  machinations  of  the 
slave,  have  any  slumber,  the  one  anticipating  the  moment  of 
peril*  the  other  watchiivg  the  opportunity  of  aggression.  The" 
fatal  crisis  is  equally  a  surprise  upon  both ;  the  decisive  iristant 
is  precipitated  without  warning,  by  folly  on  the  one  side,  or  by 
phrensy  Oil  this  other,  and  there  is  no  notice  of  the  treason  till 
the  traitor  acts. 

1'.  But,  gentlemen,  iif  you  wish  for  a  nearer  and  rhore  inters 
esting  example,  you  have  it  in  the  history  of  your  owtt 
revolution ;  you  have  it  in  that  memorable  period,  when  thfe 
monarch  found  a  servile  acquiescence  in  the  ministers  of  his 
folly ;  when  the  liberty  of  the  press  was  trodden  under  foot  \ 
when  venal  sheriffs  returned  packed  juries  \o  carry  into  effect 
ihoSfe  fatal  conspiracies  of  the  few  against  the  many;  when  the 
devoted  benches  of  publick  justice  were  filled  by  some  of  those 
foundlings  of  fortune,  who,  overwhelmed  in  the  torrent  of  cor^ 
ruptioh  at  an  early  period,  lay  at  the  bottom  like  dfowned 
bodies-,  while  soundness  of  sanity  remained  in  them ;  hut  at 
length  becoming  buoyant  by  putrefaction,  they  rose  as  they 
rotted*  and  floated  to  the  surface  of  the  polluted  stream,  where 
they  wer^e  drifted  along,  the  objects  of  terrour,  and  contagion* 
and  abomination. 

8.  In  that  awful  moment  of  a  nations  travail ;  of  thfe  last 
gasp  of  tyranny*  and  the  first  breath  of  freedom,  how  pregnant 
is  the  example  \  The  press  extinguished*  the  people  enslaved, 
and  the  prince  undone.  As  the  advocate  of  society,  therefore, 
of  peace,  of  dorftestick  liberty,  and  the  lasting  union  of  the  two 
countries*  I  conjure  you  to  guard  the  liberty  of  the  press,  that 
great  sentinel  of  state*  that  grand  detecter  of  publick  imposture: 
guard  it,  because,  when  it  sinks,  there  sinks  with  it,  in  one 
common  grave,  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and  the  security  o( 
the  crown. — Curranv 


ICOBB's    SfcQUEt;  3i 

LESSON  XX. 

Wisdom. 

Wisdom  is  humble,  said  the  voice  Of  God. 

'Tis  proud,  the  world  replied.     Wisdom,  said  God$ 

Forgives,  forbears,  arid  suffers,  not  for  fear 

Of  man,  but  God.     Wisdom  revenges,  said 

The  world,  is  quick  and  deadly  of  resentment ; 

Thrusts  at  the  very  shadow  of  affront, 

And  hastes,  by  death,  to  wipe  its  honour  clean. 

Wisdom,  said  God,  loves  enemies,  entreats, 
Solicits,  begs  for  peace.     Wisdom*  replied 
The  world,  hates  enemies,  will  not  ask  peace  \ 
Conditions  spurns,  and  triumphs  in  their  fall. 
Wisdom  mistrusts  itself,  and  leans  on  Heaven* 
Said  God.     It  trusts  and  leans  upon itself, 
The  world  replied; 

Wisdom  retires*  said  God> 
And  counts  it  bravery  to  bear  reproach, 
And  shame,  and  lowly  poverty,  upright ; 
And  weeps  with  all  who  have  just  cause  to  weepi 
Wisdom,  replied  the  world*  struts  forth  to  gaze* 
breads  the  broad  stage  of  life  with  clamorous  foot* 
Attracts  all  praises,  counts  it  bravery 
Alone  to  wield  the  sword,  and  rush  on  death ; 
And  never  weeps,  but  for  its  own  disgrace. 

,  Wisdom,  said  God,  is  highest,  when  it  stoops 
Lowest  before  the  itoly  Throne  ;  throws  dowil 
Its  crown,  abased  y  forgets  itself,  admires, 
And  breathes  adoring  praise.     There  Wisdom  stoops* 
Indeed,  the  world  replied,  there  stoops,  because 
tt  must,  but  stoops  with  dignity  ;  and  thinks 
♦And  meditates  the  while  of  inward  worth. — Pollok 


LESSON  XXI. 

Practical  Religion. 

1.  Practical  religion  confers  upon  its  possessor  a  glorious 
triumph  amid  the  sorrows  of  Xife.     Suppose  poverty  comes 


32  cobb's  sequel. 

with  its  train  of  calamities ;  or  suppose  detraction  points  its 
barbed  arrows  at  a  blameless  character ;  or  suppose  bereave- 
ment casts  a  withering  shade  over  the  best  earthly  hopes  and 
joys ;  or  suppose  disease,  which  mocks  the  highest  efforts 
both  of  friendship  and  of  skill,  impress  itself  upon  the  counte- 
nance and  make  its  lodgement  in  the  very  seat  of  life  ;  or  sup- 
pose, if  you  please,  that  this  whole  tribe  of  evils  come  marching 
in  fearful  array  to  assail  an  individual  at  once,  I  am  sure  that 
I  do  not  say  too  much  for  practical  religion,  when  I  declare  to 
you,  that  it  will  enable  its  possessor  to  meet  them  all  with 
serenity  and  triumph. 

2.  To  do  this  must  require  a  high  effort  of  faith,  I  acknowl- 
edge; but  only  such  an  effort  has  been  exemplified  in  the 
experience  of  thousands.  Oh !  when  I  have  stood  amid 
such  scenes,  and  seen  the  bright  beams  of  joy  irradiate  the 
countenance  over  which  sorrow  had  thrown  her  deepest  shades, 
just  as  the  bow  cast  brilliant  hues  upon  the  dark  cloud  in  the 
going  down  of  the  sun,  I  have  looked  upon  religion  as  a  bright 
angel  come  down  from  heaven  to  exercise  a  sovereign  influence 
over  human  calamity  ;  and  if  I  have  formed  a  wish,  or  offered 
a  prayer  in  respect  to  you  at  such  a  moment,  it  has  been  that 
tins  good  angel  may  be  your  constant  attendant  through  this 
vale  of  tears. — Sprague. 


LESSON  XXII.. 

Rollds  Address  to  the  Peruvians. 

1.  My  brave  associates,  partners  of  my  toil,  my  feelings, 
and  my  fame  !  Can  Rolla's  words  add  vigour  to  the  virtuous 
energies  which  inspire  your  hearts  ?  No  ;  you  have  judged  as 
J  have,  the  foulness  of  the  crafty  plea  by  which  these  bold  in- 
vaders would  delude  you.  Your  generous  spirit  has  compared, 
as  mine  has,  the  motives,  which  in  a  war  like  this,  can  animate 
their  minds,  and  ours. 

2.  They,  by  a  strange  phrensy  driven,  fight  for  power,  for 
plunder,  and  extended  rule ;  we,  for  our  country,  our  altars, 
and  our  homes.  They  follow  an  adventurer  whom  they  fear, 
and  obey  a  power  which  they  hate :  we  serve  a  monarch  whom 
we  love,  a  God  whom  we  adore. 

3.  Whenever  they  move  in  anger,  desolation  tracks  their 
progress  !  Whenever  they  pause  in  amity,  affliction  mourns 
their  friendship !  They  boast  they  come  but  to  improve  our 


COBB'S   SEQUEL.  33 

State,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and  free  us  from  the  yoke  of  errour ! 
Yes ;  they  will  give  enlightened  freedom  to  our  minds,  who 
are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion,  avarice,  and  pride. 

4.  They  offer  us  their  protection :  yes,  such  protection  as 
Vultures  give  to  lambs,  covering  and  devouring  them  !  They 
call  on  us  to  barter  all  of  good  we  have  inherited  and  proved, 
for  the  desperate  chance  of  something  better,  which  they 
promise.     Be  our  plain  answer  this : 

5,  The  throne  we  honour  is  the  people's  choice ;  the  laws 
we  reverence  are  our  brave  father's  legacy  ;  the  faith  we  follow 
teaches  us  to  live  in  bonds  of  charity  with  all  mankind,  and  die 
in  hopes  of  bliss  beyond  the  grave.  Tell  your  invaders  this  ; 
and  tell  them  too*  we  seek  no  change ;  and  least  of  all,  such 
change  as  they  would  bring  us. — Sheridan; 


LESSON  XXIIl. 

Genius. 

L  There  is  a  certain  charm  about  superiority  of  intellect* 
that  winds  into  deep  affections,  which  a  much  more  constant 
and  even  amiability  of  mankind,  in  lesser  men,  often  fails  to 
reach.  Genius  makes  many  enemies,  but  it  makes  sure  friends; 
friends  who  forgive  much,  who  endure  long,  who  exact  little  ; 
they  partake  of  the  character  of  disciples  as  well  as  friends* 
There  lingers  about  the  human  heart  a  strong  inclination  to 
look  upward,  to  revere  :  in  this  inclination  lies  the  source  of* 
religion,  of  loyalty,  and  also  of  the  worship  and  immortality 
Which  are  rendered  so  cheerfully  to  the  great  of  old.  And,  in 
truth,  it  is  a  divine  pleasure  to  admire  !  admiration  seems  in 
some  measure  to  appropriate  to  ourselves  the  qualities  it  hon- 
ours in  others.  We  wed ;  we  root  ourselves  to  the  natures 
we  so  love  to  Contemplate,  and  their  life  grows  a  part  of  our 
own. 


LESSON  XXIV. 
Ancient  Babylon. 


1.  Babylon  is  often  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  and  is  remark* 
able  for  having  been  the  place  where  the  Jews  were  so  long 


34  cobb's  sequel. 

captives.  It  stood  upon  a  large  level  plain,  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Euphrates.  Very  little  is  said  of  its  early  history  ; 
nor  is  it  certain  who  first  built  it ;  but  it  was  Nebuchadnezzar 
who  enlarged  and  beautified  it,  and  made  it  the  wonder  of  the 
whole  earth. 

2.  The  city  was  in  the  form  of  a  square  ;  each  side  of  the 
square  being  fifteen  miles  in  length,  requiring  sixty  miles  to 
go  round  it.  It  was  surrounded  with  a  deep  and  wide  ditch, 
lined  with  bricks,  and  filled  with  water ;  and  by  walls,  inside 
the  ditch,  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  eighty- 
seven  in  thickness.  The  walls  were  built  of  large  bricks,  ce- 
mented with  bitumen,  that  is,  a  slimy  substance  found  in  that 
country. 

3.  To  enter  the  city  were  one  hundred  gates,  twenty-five  on 
each  side,  all  of  solid  brass.  Between  every  two  of  these  gates 
were  three  towers,  raised  ten  feet  higher  than  the  wall ;  also 
four  more  at  the  four  corners  of  this  great  square.  From  each 
of  the  gates  ran  a  street,  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  wide,  in  a 
straight  line,  to  the  gate  opposite  to  it,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
city.  The  whole  number  of  streets  was  fifty,  besides  four  half 
streets  on  the  inside  of  the  walls,  two  hundred  feet  wide,  and 
built  only  on  one  side,  that  is,  the  side  opposite  the  walls. 

4.  These  fifty  streets  crossing  each  other,  and  the  half  streets, 
at  what  are  called  right  angles,  cut  the  whole  city  into  six  hun- 
dred and  seventy-six  smaller  squares,  each  of  which  would  be 
about  two  miles  and  a  quarter  round.  The  houses  were  built 
on  the  sides  of  the  squares  only,  and  were  three  or  four  stories 
high,  and  beautified  with  all  kinds  of  ornaments.  The  space 
within  was  left  open,  and  laid  out  in  gardens,  or  employed  for 
other  purposes  of  use  and  ornament. 

5.  The  river  Euphrates,  or  a  branch  of  it,  ran  quite  across 
the  city,  entering  at  the  north  side,  and  going  out  at  the  south, 
over  which  was  a  bridge,  in  the  middle  of  the  city,  a  furlong, 
or  an  eighth  part  of  a  mile  long,  and  thirty  feet  wide.  This 
bridge  was  built  with  wonderful  art,  because  the  bottom  of  the 
river  was  sandy,  and  did  not  furnish  a  good  foundation  for 
building  on.  At  the  east  end  of  the  bridge  stood  the  old  palace 
of  Babylon,  so  large  that  it  covered  four  of  the  squares  above 
named ;  at  the  west  stood  the  new  palace,  which  was  much 
larger  still,  and  covered  no  fewer  than  nine  squares. 

6.  The  temple  of  Belus,  which  covered  one  entire  square, 
stood  next  the  old  palace.  A  wall,  like  that  which  went  round 
the  city,  was  built  on  each  side  of  the  river,  and  massy  brazen 
gates  were  also  placed  at  the  ends  of  the  streets  leading  down 
to   the  river,  which  was  crossed  by  boats.     Cyrus,  having 


cobb's  SEQUEL-  35 

turned  the  river  out  of  its  channel,  entered  by  these  gates, 
which  had  been  carelessly  left  open  in  the  night,  during  a  pub- 
teck  festivity,  and  so  took  the  city.  This  was  when  he  set  the 
Jews  at  liberty,  and  gave  them  leave  to  return  to  their  own 
country. 

7.  The  most  wonderful  works  in  Babylon  were  the  walls 
already  described  ;  the  temple  of  Belus;  the  new  palace ;  the 
hanging  gardens ;  and  a  prodigious  artificial  lake  and  canals 
for  draining  the  river  ;  of  which  we  may,  perhaps,  say  more  in 
a  future  number. 

Such,  according  to  accounts,  was  ancient  Babylon.  It  never 
was,  and,  perhaps,  never  will  be,  equalled  in  grandeur  by  any 
city  upon  earth. — Monthly  Repository. 


LESSON  XXV. 

The  Poisoned  Valley. 

1.  At  the  meeting  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society,  held 
on  the  28th  ultimo,  considerable  interest  was  excited  by  an 
extract  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Alexander  Loudon,  communicated 
to  the  Society  by  John  Barrow,  Esq.  The  letter  contains  the 
account  of  a  visit  to  a  small  valley  in  the  island  of  Java,  which 
is  particularly  remarkable  for  its  power  of  destroying  in  very 
short  space  of  time  the  life  of  a  man,  or  any  animal,  exposed 
to  its  atmosphere. 

2.  It  is  distant  only  three  miles  from  Batur,  in  Java,  and  on 
the  4th  of  July,  Mr.  Loudon,  with  a  party  of  friends,  set  out  on 
a  visit  to  it.  It  is  known  by  the  name  of  Guevo  Upas,  or  Poi- 
soned Valley,  and,  following  a  path  which  had  been  made  for 
the  purpose,  they  shortly  reached  it  with  a  couple  of  dogs  and 
some  fowls,  for  the  purpose  of  making  experiments. 

3.  On  arriving  at  the  mountain,  the  party  dismounted  and 
scrambled  up  the  side  of  a  hill,  a  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
with  the  assistance  of  the  branches  of  trees  and  projecting 
roots.  In  consequence  of  the  heavy  rain  that  had  fallen  in  the 
night,  this  was  rendered  more  difficult,  and  occasioned  much 
fatigue.  When  a  few  yards  from  the  valley,  a  strong  nauseous 
and  suffocating  smell  was  experienced,  but  on  approaching  the 
margin  this  inconvenience  was  no  longer  found. 

4.  The  scene  that  now  presented  itself  is  described  as  of 
the  most  appalling  nature.  The  valley  is  about  half  a  mile  in 
circumference,  of  an  oval  shape,  and  about  thirty  or  thirty-five 


OD  COBB  a    SEQUEL. 

feet  in  depth.  The  bottom  of  it  appeared  to  be  flat,  without 
any  vegetation,  and  a  few  large  stones  scattered  here  and 
there.  The  attention  of  the  party  was  immediately  attracted 
to  the  number  of  skeletons  of  human  beings,  tigers,  boars, 
deer,  and  all  sorts  of  birds  and  wild  animals,  which  lay  about 
in  profusion. 

5.  The  ground  on  which  they  lay,  at  the  bottom  of  the  val- 
ley,  appeared  to  be  a  hard  sandy  substance,  and  no  vapour  was 
perceived  issuing  from  it,  nor  any  opening  through  which  it 
might  escape,  and  the  sides  were  covered  with  vegetation.  It 
was  now  proposed  to  enter  it,  and  each  of  the  party,  having 
lighted  a  cigar,  managed  to  get  within  twenty  feet  of  the  bot- 
tom, where  a  sickening  nauseous  smell  was  experienced,  with- 
out any  difficulty  in  breathing. 

6.  A  dog  was  now  fastened  at  the  end  of  a  bamboo,  and 
thrust  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  while  some  of  the  party, 
with  their  watches  in  their  hands,  observed  the  effects.  At 
the  expiration  of  fourteen  seconds  the  dog  fell  off  his  legs, 
without  moving  or  looking  round,  and  continued  alive  only 
eighteen  minutes. 

7.  The  other  dog  now  left  the  party  and  went  to  his  com- 
panion ;  on  reaching  him  he  was  observed  to  stand  quite  mo- 
tionless, and  at  the  end  of  ten  seconds  fell  down ;  he  never 
moved  his  limbs  after,  and  lived  only  seven  minutes.  A  fowl 
was  now  thrown  in,  which  died  in  a  minute  and  a  half,  and 
another  which  was  thrown  after  it  died  in  the  space  of  a  minute 
and  a  half. 

8.  A  heavy  shower  of  rain  fell  during  the  time  that  these 
experiments  were  going  forward,  which,  from  the  interesting 
nature  of  the  experiments,  was  quite  disregarded.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  valley  to  that  which  was  visited,  lay  a  human 
skeleton,  the  head  resting  on  the  right  arm.  The  effects  of  the 
weather  had  bleached  the  bones  as  white  as  ivory. 

9.  Two  hours  were  passed  in  this  valley  of  death,  and  the 
party  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  out  of  it,  owing  to  the  rain 
that  had  fallen.  The  human  skeletons  are  supposed  to  be 
those  of  rebels,  who  have  been  pursued  from  the  main  road, 
and  taken  refuge  in  the  valley  without  their  knowledge  of  the 
danger  to  which  they  were  thus  exposing  themselves. 

10.  (The  effects  as  here  described  are  identical  with  those 
of  the  grotto  del  Cane,  at  Naples,  and  no  doubt  arise  from  the 
same  cause.  These  seem  more  strange  in  an  open  valley ; 
but  the  mephitick  air  at  the  grotto  is  so  heavy,  that  you  may 
stand  upright  without  inconvenience,  as  it  rises  but  &  f§W 
inches  above  the  surface.) 


cobb's  sequel,  37 

LESSON  XXVI. 

Falls  of  the  Montmorency, 

1.  The  Montmorency  empties  itself  at  the  distance  of  about 
eight  miles  northeast  of  Quebeck,  into  the  great  river  St.  Law- 
rence, to  the  coast  of  which  it  gradually  descends  from  the 
elevated  mountain  on  which  it  has  its  source.  At  a  station 
called  La  Motte,  situated  on  th«  northern  extremity  of  a  sloping 
ground,  its  waters  diffuse  inemselves  into  shallow  currents, 
interrupted  by  rocks  whi^h  break  them  into  foam,  and  accom» 
panied  by  murmuring  rounds  which  enliven  the  solitude  and 
solemn  stillness  prevailing  throughout  the  surrounding  forests 
and  desolate  hills  Farther  down,  its  channel  is  bounded  by 
precipitous  rocks,  its  breadth  becoming  extremely  contracted 
and  the  rapidly  of  its  current  proportionably  augmented, 

2.  At  a  /dace  called  "  the  natural  steps,"  there  are  several 
beautiful  cascades  of  ten  or  twelve  feet.  These  steps,  which 
are  extremely  regular,  have  been  gradually  formed  by  the  ac* 
cession  of  waters  the  river  receives  in  its  progress,  at  the  break* 
injr  up  of  winter,  by  the  melting  of  the  snows,  From  the 
fiddle  of  April  to  the  end  of  May,  its  waters  roll  with  increase 
ing  height  and  rapidity.  Being  powerfully  impelled  in  their 
course,  they  insinuate  themselves  between  the  strata  of  the 
horizontal  rock,  vast  fragments  of  which  are  detached  by  the 
rushing  violence  of  the  sweeping  torrent. 

3.  On  the  eastern  side,  the  bank,  which  is  almost  perpen* 
dicular,  and  fifty  feet  high,  is  surmounted  by  lofty  trees,  The 
southwest  bank  rises  beyond  the  steps,  and  terminates  in  a 
precipice.  On  the  opposite  side,  the  bank  is  regular,  and  of  a. 
singular  shape,  resembling  the  ruin  of  an  elevated  wall,  The 
trees  by  which  the  banks  are  enclosed,  united  with  the  effect; 
produced  by  the  foaming  currents,  and  the  scattered  masses  pf 
stone,  form  a  scene  wild  and  picturesque.  The  stream  now 
taking  a  southern  direction,  is  augmented  in  its  velocity,  and 
forms  a  grand  cascade  interrupted  by  huge  rocks,  A  quarter 
of  a  mile  farther  down  a  similar  effect  is  produced. 

4.  After  exhibiting  an  agreeable  variety  through  its  course, 
the  river  is  precipitated,  in  an  almost  perpendicular  direction, 
over  a  rock  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  height.  Wherever 
it  touches  the  rock  it  falls  in  white  clouds  of  rolling  foam ;  and* 
beneath,  where  it  is  propelled  with  uninterrupted  gravitation, 
it  forms  numerous  flakes,  like  wool  or  cotton,  which  are  grad* 

4 


do  COBB  8    SEQVKL. 

nally  protracted  in  the  descent,  until  they  are  received  into  the 
boiling  profound  abyss  beneath. 

5.  The  effect  from  the  summit  of  the  cliff  is  awfully  grand, 
and  truly  sublime.  The  prodigious  depth  of  the  descent  of 
the  waters  of  this  surprising  fall;  the  brightness  and  volubility 
of  their  course ;  the  swiftness  of  their  movement  through  the 
air ;  and  the  loud  and  hollow  noise  emitted  from  the  basin, 
swelling  with  incessant  agitation  from  the  weight  of  the  dash- 
ing waters,  forcibly  combine  to  attract  the  attention,  and  to 
impress  the  mind  of  the  spectator  with  sentiments  of  grandeur 
and  elevation. 

6.  The  clouds  of  rising  vapour,  vhich  assume  the  prismatick 
colours,  contribute  to  enliven  the  scene.  They  fly  off  from 
the  fall  in  the  form  of  a  revolving  sphere,  emitting  with  velo- 
city pointed  flakes  of  spray,  which  spread  in  receding,  until 
they  are  interrupted  by  the  neighbouring  btnks,  or  dissolved 
in  th«  atmosphere. 

7.  The  breadth  of  the  fall  is  one  hundred  feet:  &nd  the  basin, 
which  is  bounded  by  steep  cliffs,  forms  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees.  When  viewed  from  the  beach,  the  cataracv  is  seen, 
with  resplendent  beauty,  to  flow  down  the  gloomy  prt^ipice' 
the  summit  of  which  is  crowned  with  woods.  The  diffusion  of 
the  stream,  to  the  breadth  of  fifteen  hundred  feet,  and  the  Vco-J. 
ous  small  cascades  produced  by  the  inequalities  of  its  rock} 
bed,  on  its  way  to  the  river  St.  Lawrence,  display  a  very  sin- 
gular and  pleasing  combination. — Monthly  Repository. 


LESSON  XXVII. 
The  Elder's  Funeral. 

1.  How  beautiful  to  the  eye  and  to  the  heart  rise  up,  in  a 
pastoral  region,  the. green,  silent  hills  from  the  dissolving 
snow-wreaths  that  yet  linger  at  their  feet!  A  few  warm, 
sunny  days,  and  a  few  breezy  and  melting  nights,  have  seemed 
to  create  the  sweet  season  of  spring  out  of  the  winter's  bleak- 
est desolation.  We  can  scarcely  believe  that  such  brightness 
of  verdure  could  have  been  shrouded  in  the  snow,  blending 
itself,  as  it  now  does,  so  vividly  with  the  deep  blue  of  heaven. 
With  the  revival  of  nature,  our  own  souls  feel  restored.  Hap- 
piness becomes  milder,  meeker,  and  richer  in  pensive  thought; 
while  sorrow  catches  a  faint  tinge  of  joy,  and  reposes  itself  on 
the  quietness  of  earth's  opening  breast.     Then  is  youth  re- 


cobb's  sequel.  39 

j  Dicing,  manhood  sedate,  and  old  age  resigned.  The  child 
shakes  his  golden  curls  in  his  glee ;  he  of  riper  life  hails  the 
coming  year  with  temperate  exultation,  and  the  eye,  that  has 
been  touched  with  dimness,  in  the  general  spirit  of  delight, 
forgets  or  fears  not  the  shadows  of  the  grave. 

2.  On  such  a  vernal  day  as  this  did  we,  who  had  visited  the 
Elder  on  his  death-bed,  walk  together  to  his  house  in  the  Ha- 
zel-glen, to  accompany  his  body  to  the  place  of  burial.  On 
the  night  he  died,  it  seemed  to  be  the  dead  of  winter.  On  the 
day  he  was  buried,  it  seemed  to  be  the  birth  of  spring.  The 
old  pastor  and  I  were  alone  for  awhile,  as  we  pursued  our 
path  up  the  glen,  by  the  banks  of  the  little  burn.  It  had  cleared 
itself  off  from  the  melted  snow,  and  ran  so  pellucid  a  race, 
that  every  stone  and  pebble  was  visible  in  its  yellow  channel. 
The  willows,  the  alders,  and  the  birches,  the  fairest  and  the 
earliest  of  our  native  hill  trees,  seemed  almost  tinged  with  a 
verdant  light,  as  if  they  were  budding ;  and  beneath  them,  here 
and  there,  peeped  out,  as  in  the  pleasure  of  new  existence,  the 
primrose,  lonely,  or  in  little  families  and  flocks.  The  bee  had 
not  yet  ventured  to  leave  his  cell,  yet  the  flowers  reminded 
one  of  his  murmur.  A  few  insects  were  dancing  in  the  air, 
and  here  and  there  some  little  moorland  bird,  touched  at  the 
heart  with  the  warm,  sunny  change,  was  piping  his  love-sweet 
song  among  the  braes. 

3.  It  was  just  such  a  day  as  a  grave,  meditative  man,  like  him 
we  were  about  to  inter,  would  have  chosen  to  walk  over  his 
farm  in  religious  contentment  with  his  lot.  That  was  the 
thought  that  entered  the  pastor's  heart,  as  we  paused  to  enjoy 
one  brighter  gleam  of  the  sun  in  a  little  meadow-field  of  pecu- 
liar beauty.  "  This  is  the  last  day  of  the  week,  and  on  that 
day  often  did  the  Elder  walk  through  this  little  happy  kingdom 
of  his  own,  with  some  of  his  grandchildren  beside  and  around 
him,  and  often  his  Bible  in  his  hand.  It  is,  you  feel,  a  solitary 
place ;  all  the  vale  is  one  seclusion ;  and  often  have  its  quiet 
bounds  been  a  place  of  undisturbed  meditation  and  prayer." 

4.  We  now  came  in  sight  of  the  cottage,  and  beyond  it  the  ter- 
mination of  the  glen.  There  the  high  hills  came  sloping  gently 
down ;  and  a  little  waterfall,  in  the  distance,  gave  animation 
to  a  scene  of  perfect  repose.  We  were  now  joined  by  various 
small  parties  coming  to  the  funeral  through  openings  among 
the  hills  ;  all  sedate,  but  none  sad,  and  every  greeting  was  that 
of  kindness  and  peace.  The  Elder  had  died  full  of  years;  and 
there  was  no  need  why  any  out  of  his  own  household  should 
weep.  A  long  life  of  piety  had  been  beautifully  closed  ;  and, 
therefore,  we  were  all  going  to  commit  the  body  to  the  earth, 


40  Cobb's  sequel* 

assured,  as  far  as  human  beings  may  be  so  assured,  that  the 
soul  was  in  heaven.  As  the  party  increased  on  our  approach 
to  the  house,  there  was  even  cheerfulness  among  us.  We 
Spoke  of  the  early  and  bright  promise  of  spring ;  of  the  sor- 
rows and  the  joys  of  other  families ;  of  marriages  and  births ; 
of  the  new  schoolmaster ;  of  to-morrow's  Sabbath.  There  was 
ilo  topick,  of  which,  on  any  common  occasion,  it  might  have 
been  fitting  to  speak,  that  did  not  now  perhaps  occupy,  for  a 
few  moments,  some  one  or  other  of  the  group,  till  we  found 
ourselves  ascendirtg  the  green  sward  before  the  cottage,  and 
Stood  before  the  bare  branches  of  the  sycamores.  Then  we 
were  all  silent,  and,  after  a  short  pause,  reverently  entered 
into  the  house  of  death. 

6.  At  the  door,  the  son  received  us  with  a  calm,  humble,  and 
Untroubled  face  ;  and,  in  his  manner  toward  the  old  minister, 
there  was  something  that  could  not  be  misunderstood,  expres- 
sing penitence,  gratitude,  and  resignation.  We  all  sat  down 
in  the  large  kitchen  ;  and  the  son  decently  received  each  per- 
son at  the  door,  and  showed  him  to  his  place.  There  were 
some  old,  gray  heads,  more  becoming  gray,  and  many  bright 
in  manhood  and  youth.  But  the  same  solemn  hush  was  over 
them  all ;  and  they  sat  all  bound  together  in  one  uniting  and 
assimilating  spirit  of  devotion  and  faith.  Wine  and  bread  were 
to  be  sent  round ;  but  the  son  looked  to  the  old  minister,  who 
rose,  lifted  up  his  withered  hand,  and  began  a  blessing  and  a 
prayer* 

6.  There  was  so  much  composure  and  stillness  in  the  old 
man's  attitude,  and  something  so  affecting  in  his  voice,  tremu- 
lous $nd  broken,  not  in  grief  but  age,  that,  no  sooner  had  he 
begun  to  pray,  than  every  heart  and  every  breath  at  once  was 
hushed*  All  stood  motionless,  nor  could  one  eye  abstain  from 
that  placid  and  patriarchal  countenance,  with  its  closed  eyes, 
and  long,  silvery  hair.  There  was  nothing  sad  in  his  words, 
but  they  were  all  humble  and  solemn,  and  at  times  even  joyful 
in  the  kindling  spirit  of  piety  and  faith.  He  spoke  of  the  dead 
man's  goodness  as  imperfect  in  the  eyes  of  his  Great  Judge, 
but  such  as,  we  were  taught,  might  lead,  through  intercession, 
to  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Might  the  blessing  of  God,  he 
prayed,  which  had  so  long  rested  on  the  head  now  coffined, 
not  forsake  that  of  him  who  was  now  to  be  the  father  of  this 
house*  There  was  more  joy,  we  were  told,  in  heaven,  over 
one  sinner  that  repenteth,  than  over  ninety  and  nine  just  per- 
sons which  need  no  repentance.  Fervently,  too,  and  tenderly, 
did  the  old  man  pray  for  her,  in  her  silent  chamber,  who  had 
lost  so  kind  a  parent,  and  for  all  the  little  children  round  hei 


cobb's  sequel.  41 

knfees.  Nor  did  he  end  his  prayer  without  some  allusion  to  his 
own  gray  hairs,  and  to  the  approaching  day  on  which  many 
then  present  would  attend  his  burial. 

7.  Just  as  he  ceased  to  speak,  one  solitary,  stifled  sob  was 
heard,  and  all  eyes  turned  kindly  round  to  a  little  boy  who 
was  standing  by  the  side  of  the  Elder's  son.  Restored  once 
more  to  his  own  father's  love,  his  heart  had  been  insensibly 
filled  with  peace  since  the  old  man's  death.  The  returning 
tenderness  of  the  living  came  in  place  of  that  of  the  dead,  and 
the  child  yearned  toward  his  father  now  with  a  stronger  affec- 
tion, relieved,  at  last,  from  all  his  fear.  He  had  been  suffered 
to  sit  an  hour  each  day  beside  the  bed  on  which  his  grandfather 
lay  shrouded,  and  he  had  got  reconciled  to  the  cold,  but  silent 
and  happy  looks  of  death.  His  mother  and  his  Bible  told  him 
to  obey  God,  without  repining,  in  all  things  ;  and  the  child  did 
so  with  perfect  simplicity.  One  sob  had  found  its  way  at  the 
close  of  that  pathetick  prayer ;  but  the  tears  that  bathed  his  glis- 
tening cheeks  were  far  different  from  those  that,  on  the  day 
and  night  of  his  grandfather's  decease,  had  burst  from  the 
agony  of  a  breaking  heart.  The  old  minister  laid  his  hand 
silently  upon  his  golden  head  ;  there  was  a  momentary  mur- 
mur of  kindness  and  pity  over  the  room ;  the  child  was  paci- 
fied ;  and  again  all  was  repose  and  peace. 

8.  A  sober  voice  said  that  all  was  ready,  and  the  son  and  the 
minister  led  the  way  reverently  out  into  the  open  air.  The 
bier  stood  before  the  door,  and  was  lifted  slowly  up  with  its 
sable  pall.  Silently  each  mourner  took  his  place.  The  sun 
was  shining  pleasantly,  and  a  gentle  breeze,  passing  through  the 
sycamores,  shook  down  the  glittering  rain-drops  upon  the  fu- 
neral velvet.  The  small  procession,  with  an  instinctive  spirit, 
began  to  move  along  ;  and  as  I  cast  up  my  <yes  to  take  a  fare- 
well look  of  that  beautiful  dwelling,  no^  finally  left  by  him 
who  so  long  had  blessed  it,  I  saw,  at  t>e  half  open  lattice  of 
the  little  bed-room  window  above,  t>e  pale,  weeping  face  of 
that  stainless  matron,  who  was  takixg  her  last  passionate  fare- 
well of  the  mortal  remains  of  her  father,  now  slowly  receding 
from  her  to  the  quiet  field  of  gn^es. 

9.  We  proceeded  along  the  edges  of  the  hills,  and  along  the 
meadow-fields,  crossed  the  M  wooden  bridge  over  the  burn, 
now  widening  in  its  course  to  the  plain;  and  in  an  hour  of  pen- 
sive silence,  or  pleasant  &tlk,  we  found  ourselves  entering,  in 
a  closer  body,  the  littfc  gateway  of  the  church-yard.  To  the 
tolling  of  the  bell  we  moved  across  the  green  mounds,  and  ar- 
ranged ourselves,  according  to  the  plan  and  order  which  our 
feelings  suggested,  around  the  bier  and  its  natural  supporters. 

4* 


42  COBB'S    SEOjlfct. 

Thefe  was  no  delay.  In  a  few  minutes  the  Elder  was  laid 
among  the  mould  of  his  forefathers,  in  their  long-ago  chosen 
spot  of  rest.  One  by  one  the  people  dropped  away,  and  none 
were  left  by  the  new-made  grave  but  the  son  and  his  little  boy, 
the  pastor  and  myself.  As  yet  nothing  was  said,  and  in  that 
patlse  I  looked  around  me,  over  the  sweet  burial  ground. 

10.  Each  tombstone  and  grave,  over  which  I  had  often  walked 
ift  boyhood,  arose  in  my  memory  as  I  looked  steadfastly  upon 
their  long-forgotten  inscriptions ;  and  many  had  since  then 
been  erected.  The  whole  character  of  the  place  was  still  sim- 
ple and  Unostentatious ;  but,  from  the  abodes  of  the  dead,  1 
could  see  that  there  had  been  an  improvement  in  the  condition 
of  the  living.  There  was  a  taste  visible  in  their  decorations, 
hot  without  much  of  native  feeling,  and,  occasionally,  some- 
thing even  of  native  grace.  If  there  was  any  other  inscription 
than  the  name  and  age  of  the  poor  inhabitants  below,  it  was, 
in  general,  some  short  text  of  Scripture  ;  for  it  is  most  pleas- 
ant and  soothing  to  the  pious  mind,  when  bereaved  of  friends, 
to  commemorate  them  on  earth  by  some  touching  expression 
taken  from  that  Book,  which  reveals  to  them  a  life  in  heaven. 

11»  There  is  a  soft  of  gradation,  a  scale  of  forgetfulness,  In 
a  country  churchyard,  where  the  processes  of  nature  are  suf- 
fered to  go  on  over  the  green  place  of  burial ;  that  is  extremely 
affecting  in  the  contemplation.  The  soul  goes,  from  the  grave 
just  covered  up  to  that  which  seems  scarcely  joined  together, 
oh  and  on  to  those  folded  and  bound  by  the  undisturbed  ver* 
dure  of  mai.y,  many  unremembered  years.  It  then  glides  at 
last  into  ttooks  and  cornet's  where  the  ground  seems  perfectly 
calm  and  wavtless,  utter  oblivion  having  smoothed  the  earth 
over  the  long  mouldered  bones.  Tombstones,  on  which  the 
Inscriptions  are  hia^eh  in  green  obliteration,  or  that  are  mould* 
ering,  or  falling  to  a  nde,  are  close  to  others  which  last  week 
Were  brushed  by  the  ciisel :  constant  renovation  and  constant 
decay,  vain  attempts  to  >dhere  to  memory,  and  oblivion  now 
baffled,  and  now  triumphan,  smiling  among  all  the  memorials 
of  human  affection,  as  they  keep  continually  crumbling  away 
into  the  world  of  undistinguisl/ible  dust  and  ashes. 

\%  The  church-yard,  to  the  inhabitants  of  a  rural  parish,  is 
the  place  to  which,  as  they  grow-dder,  all  their  thoughts  and 
feelings  turn*  The  young  take  a  lock  of  it  every  Sabbath-day, 
hot  always  perhaps  a  careless  look,  birt  carry  away  from  it,  Un- 
tortsciously,  many  salutary  impressions*  What  is  more  pleas- 
ant than  the  meeting  of  a  rttral  congregation  in  the  church* 
yard  before  the  minister  appears  ?  What  is  there  to  shudder 
at  in  lying  down*  sooner  fcr  later,  in  such  a  peaceful  and  sacred 


pladfc,  to  be  Spoken  of  frequently  on  Sabbath  among  the 
groups  of  which  we  used  to  be  one,  and  our  low  burial-spot  to 
be  visited,  at  such  times,  as  long  as  there  remains  on  earth  any 
one  to  whom  our  face  was  dear !  To  those  who  mix  in  the 
strife  and  dangers  of  the  World,  the  place  is  felt  to  be  uncertain 
wherein  they  may  finally  lie  at  rest.  The  soldier,  the  sailor, 
the  traveller4,  can  only  see  some  dim  grave  dug  fof  him,  when 
he  dies,  in  some  place  obscure,  nameless,  and  unfixed  to  ima- 
gination. All  he  feels  is,  that  his  burial  will  be,  on  earth  or 
in  the  sea.  But  the  peaceful  dwellers,  who  cultivate  their 
paternal  acres,  or  tilling  at  least  the  same  Small  spot  of  soil, 
shift  only  from  a  cottage  on  the  hillside  to  one  on  the  plain, 
still  within  the  bounds  of  one  quiet  parish;  they  look  to  lay 
their  bones,  at  last,  in  the  burial  place  of  the  kirk  in  which  they 
were  baptised,  and  with  them  it  almost  literally  is  but  a  step 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

13.  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  calmly  followed  each  other 
in  my  revery,  as  I  stood  beside  the  Elder's  grave,  and  the  trod- 
den grass  was  again  lifting  up  its  blades  from  the  pressure  of 
many  feet,  now  all  but  a  few  departed*  What  a  simple  burial 
had  it  been !  Dust  was  consigned  to  dust ;  no  more.  Bare, 
naked,  simple,  and  austere,  is,  in  Scotland,  the  service  of  the 
grave.  It  is  left  to  the  soul  itself  to  consecrate,  by  its  passion, 
the  mould  over  which  tears,  but  no  words,  are  poured.  Surely 
there  is  a  beauty  in  this ;  for  the  heart  is  left  unto  its  own  sor- 
row, according  as  it  is  a  friend,  a  brother,  a  parent,  or  a  child, 
that  is  covered  up  from  our  eyes.  Yet  call  not  other  rites, 
however  different  from  this,  less  beautiful  or  pathetick.  For 
willingly  does  the  Soul  connect  its  grief  with  any  consecrated 
ritual  of  the  dead.  Sound  or  silence,  mlisick,  hymns,  psalms, 
sable  garments,  or  raiment  white  as  snow,  all  become  holy  sym- 
bols of  the  soul's  affection  ;  nor  is  it  for  any  man  to  say  which 
is  the  most  natural,  which  is  the  best  of  the  thousand  shows, 
and  expressions,  and  testimonies  of  sorrow,  resignation  ana 
love,  by  which  mortal  beings  would  seek  to  express  their  souls, 
When  orte  of  their  brethren  has  returned  to  his  parent  dust. 

14.  My  mind  was  recalled  from  all  these  sad,  yet  not  un-* 
pleasant  fancies,  by  a  deep  groan,  and  I  beheld  the  Elder's  sort 
fling  himself  down  upon  the  grave,  and  kiss  it  passionately, 
imploring  pardon  from  God.  "  I  distressed  my  father's  heart 
in  his  old  age ;  I  repented,  and  received  thy  forgiveness  even 
on  thy  death  bed  !  But  how  may  I  be  assured  that  God  will 
forgive  me  for  having  so  sinned  against  my  old,  gray-headed 
father*  When  his  limbs  Were  weak  and  his  eye-sight  dim !" 
The  old  minister  Stood  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  without  speak- 


44  COBb's  SEQUEL. 

ing  a  word,  with  his  solemn  and  piriful  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
prostrate  and  contrite  man.  His  sin  had  been  great,  and  tears, 
that  till  now  had,  on  this  day  at  least,  been  compressed  within 
his  heart  by  the  presence  of  so  many  of  his  friends,  now  poured 
down  upon  the  sod  as  if  they  would  have  found  their  way  to 
the  very  body  of  his  father.  Neither  of  us  offered  to  lift  him 
up,  for  we  felt  awed  by  the  rueful  passion  of  his  love,  his  re- 
morse and  his  penitence ;  and  nature,  we  felt,  ought  to  have 
her  way.  "  Fear  not,  my  son,"  at  length  said  the  old  man,  in 
a  gentle  voice,  "  fear  not,  my  son,  but  that  you  are  already  for- 
given. Dost  thou  not  feel  pardon  within  thy  contrite  spirit?" 
He  rose  up  from  his  knees  with  a  faint  smile,  while  the 
minister,  with  his  white  head  yet  uncovered,  held  his  hands 
over  him  as  in  benediction;  and  that  beautiful  and  loving 
child,  who  had  been  standing  in  a  fit  of  weeping  terrour  at  his 
father's  agony,  now  came  up  to  him,  and  kissed  his  cheek  ; 
holding  in  his  little  hand  a  few  faded  primroses,  which  he  had 
unconsciously  gathered  together  as  they  lay  on  the  turf  of  his 
grandfather's  grave. — Wilson. 


LESSON  XXVIII. 
On  the  Death  of  a  Brother. 

h      I  had  a  brother  once,  but  now  have  none  ! 
He  loved  me  with  a  childish  fondness ;  and  oft 
To  me,  as  I  returned  after  a  short  absence 
From  that  paternal  roof  that  sheltered  both 
Our  infant  years,  would  he  extend  the  hand 
Of  strong  affection,  and  look  endearment. 
And  when  the  cruel  year  had  come,  that  called 
Me  far  away  from  that  abode,  and  bade 
Me  seek  another  home,  he  said  '  farewell ;' 
*  Yet  a  little  while  and  we  shall  see  you  again.' 
I  as  fondly  hoped,  ah !  delusive  hope  ! 


2.      The  grave  conceals  him.     On  this  side  the  grave 
I  no  more  shall  see  him.     Should  Providence 
Permit,  and  I  should  visit  yet  once  more 
My  loved,  native  spot  of  earth,  mementoes 
Sad,  where  once  he  smiled,  shall  thicken 
Round  me.     At  the  table  I  shall  seek  him, 


£6BB*S   SEQUEL,  45 

But  he'll  not  be  there  !  and  by  the  fireside, 

But  shall  not  find  him !  at  the  family 

Altar ;  but  no  !  where  he  was  early  taught 

To  pray,  his  knees  shall  bend  no  more  !  at  church, 

"Where  hand  in  hand  we  walked,  but  where  he  sat 

Another  sits,  and  listens  to  the  Word  of  \h'ei 

Which  I  had  hoped  would  ere  long  enlist 

His  infant  thought,  and  imbue  his  tender  mind. 

In  the  field,  where  his  sportive  feet  were  wont 

To  chase  the  butterfly,  I  shall  walk  alone. 

Ye  beautiful  of  wing,  fly  on,  and  light 

On  every  flowrer,  and  rest,  and  sip  its  sweets ; 

His  busy  hand  shall  not  disturb  your  rest, 

Nor  his  foot  shake  the  flower  on  which  ye  sit } 

Ye  need  not  fear* 

3.  Oh,  death  !  why,  cruel  monster, 
Didst  thoU  seize  on  one  so  young,  so  active, 
And  so  full  of  hope  ?  Why  wreak  thy  vengeance 
On  this  bud  of  genius,  unopened  yet 

By  the  ripening  hand  of  time,  but  opening 
Fast,  unfolding  seeds  of  promise  ?  Why  pass 
Unfriendly  by  whom  all  other  friends  forsake, 
Misfortune's  child,  the  aged,  racked  with  pain, 
And  the  weary  of  life,  to  blight  one 
Who  was  his  parents'  hope,  a  brother's  pride  ? 
Why  pass  by  me,  on  whom  the  world  has  frowned 
Too  long,  for  whom  the  world  has  lost  its  charms, 
And  ruthless  slay  this  heir  of  better  hopes, 
In  whose  morning  prospect  lowered  no  cloud, 
Unstamped  with  the  bow  of  promise  1 

4.  Be  silent,  pride,  'tis  right,  'tis  God  directs ; 
Unerring  wisdom  guides  his  deep  designs  : 
Then  cease,  my  soul,  to  murmur,  cease  to  mourn, 
The  remnant  of  thy  days  devote  to  Him 

Who  gave,  and  took  but  what  he  gave  ;  to  Him 
Who  is  thy  life,  thy  hope,  and  thy  reward ; 
And  till  those  days  are  numbered,  patient  wait 
Thy  own  great  change  :  then  be  thy  work  finished, 
Thy  last  foe  subdued,  and  thou,  triumphant 
In  redeeming  grace,  prepared  to  soar 
Above  the  world  of  sin,  and  pain,  and  death,  to  that 
Where  friends  shall  meet,  and  friendship  cease  no  more ! 

American  Atiijsnevm 


46  cobb's  sequel. 

LESSON  XXIX. 

Grandeur  and  Moral  Interest  of  American  Antiquities. 

1.  You  will  expect  me  to  say  something  of  the  lonely 
records  of  the  former  races  that  inhabited  this  country.  That 
there  has,  formerly,  been  a  much  more  numerous  population 
than  exists  here  at  present,  I  am  fully  impressed,  from  the 
result  of  my  own  personal  observations.  From  the  highest 
points  of  the  Ohio,  to  where  I  am  now  writing,  and  far  up  the 
upper  Mississippi  and  Missouri,  the  more  the  country  is  ex- 
plored and  peopled,  and  the  more  its  surface  is  penetrated,  not 
only  are  there  more  mounds  brought  to  view,  but  more  incon- 
testable marks  of  a  numerous  population. 

2.  Wells,  artificially  walled,  different  structures  of  conveni- 
ence or  defence,  have  been  found  in  such  numbers,  as  no 
longer  to  excite  curiosity.  Ornaments  of  silver  and  of  copper, 
pottery,  of  which  I  have  seen  numberless  specimens  on  all 
these  waters;  not  to  mention  the  mounds  themselves,  and  the 
still  more  tangible  evidence  of  human  bodies  found  in  a  state 
of  preservation,  and  of  sepulchres  full  of  bones ;  are  unques- 
tionable demonstrations,  that  this  country  was  once  possessed 
of  a  numerous  population.  *  *  *  The  mounds  themselves, 
though  of  earth,  are  not  those  rude  and  shapeless  heaps,  that 
they  have  been  commonly  represented  to  be.  I  have  seen,  for 
instance,  in  different  parts  of  the  Atlantick  country,  the  breast- 
works and  other  defences  of  earth,  that  were  thrown  up  by 
our  people  during  the  war  of  the  revolution.  None  of  those 
monuments  date  back  more  than  fifty  years.  These  mounds 
must  date  back  to  remote  depths  in  the  olden  time. 

3.  From  the  ages  of  the  trees  on  them,  and  from  other  data, 
we  can  trace  them  back  six  hundred  years,  leaving  it  entirely 
to  the  imagination  to  descend  farther  into  the  depths  of  time 
beyond.  And  yet,  after  the  rains,  the  washing,  and  the  crum- 
bling of  so  many  ages,  many  of  them  are  still  twenty-five  feet 
high.  All  of  them  are,  incomparably,  more  conspicuous  monu- 
ments than  the  works  which  I  just  noticed.  Some  of  them  are 
spread  over  an  extent  of  acres.  I  have  seen,  great  and  small, 
I  should  suppose,  a  hundred.  Though  diverse,  in  position 
and  form,  they  all  have  a  uniform  character. 

4.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  in  rich  soils,  and  in  con- 
spicuous situations.     Those  on  the  Ohio  are  covered  with  very 


cobb's  sequel.  47 

large  trees.  But,  in  the  prairie  regions,  where  I  have  seen 
the  greatest  numbers,  they  are  covered  with  tall  grass,  and 
generally  near  benches  ;  which  indicate  the  former  courses  of 
the  rivers,  in  the  finest  situations  for  present  culture  ;  and  the 
greatest  population  clearly  has  been  in  those  very  positions, 
where  the  most  dense  future  population  will  be.       *     *     *     * 

5.  The  English,  when  they  sneer  at  our  country,  speak  of  it 
as  steril  in  moral  interest.  "  It  has,"  say  they,  "  no  monu- 
ments, no  ruins,  none  of  the  massive  remains  of  former  ages  ;■ 
no  castles,  no  mouldering  abbeys,  no  baronial  towers  and  dun- 
geons; nothing  to  connect  the  imagination  and  the  heart  with 
the  past ;  no  recollections  of  former  ages,  to  associate  the 
past  with  the  future." 

6.  But  I  have  been  attempting  sketches  of  the  largest  and 
most  fertile  valley  in  the  world,  larger,  in  fact,  than  half  of 
Europe,  all  its  remotest  points  being  brought  into  proximity 
by  a  stream,  which  runs  the  length  of  that  continent,  and  to 
which  all  but  two  or  three  of  the  rivers  of  Europe  are  but 
rivulets.  Its  forests  make  a  respectable  figure,  even  placed 
beside  Blenheim  park. 

7.  We  have  lakes  which  could  find  a  place  for  the  Cumber- 
land lakes  in  the  hollow  of  one  of  their  islands.  We  have 
prairies,  which  have  struck  me  as  among  the  sublimest  pros- 
pects in  nature.  There  we  see  the  sun  rising  over  a  boundless 
plain,  where  the  blue  of  the  heavens,  in  all  directions,  touches 
and  mingles  with  the  verdure  of  the  flowers.  It  is,  to  me,  a 
view  far  more  glorious  than  that  on  which  the  sun  rises  over  a 
barren  and  angry  waste  of  sea.  The  one  is  soft,  cheerful,  as- 
sociated with  life,  and  requires  an  easier  effort  of  the  imagina- 
tion to  travel  beyond  the  eye.  The  other  is  grand,  but  dreary, 
desolate,  and  always  ready  to  destroy. 

8.  In  the  most  pleasing  positions  of  these  prairies,  we  have 
our  Indian  mounds,  which  proudly  rise  above  the  plain.  At 
first  the  eye  mistakes  them  for  hills ;  but,  when  it  catches  the 
regularity  of  their  breast-works  and  ditches,  it  discovers,  at 
once,  that  they  are  the  labours  of  art  and  of  men. 

9.  When  the  evidence  of  the  senses  convinces  us  that  human 
bones  moulder  in  these  masses ;  when  you  dig  about  them, 
and  bring  to  light  their  domestick  utensils  ;  and  are  compelled 
to  believe,  that  the  busy  tide  of  life  once  flowed  here;  when 
you  see,  at  once,  that  these  races  were  of  a  very  different  char- 
acter from  the  present  generation ;  you  begin  to  inquire  if 
any  tradition,  if  any,  the  faintest,  records  can  throw  any 
light  upon  these  habitations  of  men  of  another  age. 

10.  Is  there  no  scope,  beside  these  mounds,  for  imagina- 


48  cobb's  sequel. 

tion,  and  for  contemplation  of  the  past?  The  men,  their 
joys,  their  sorrows,  their  bones,  are  all  buried  together.  But 
the  grand  features  of  nature  remain.  Thero  is  the  beautiful 
prairie,  over  which  they  "  strutted  through  life's  poor  play." 
The  forests,  the  hills,  the  mounds,  lift  their  heads  in  unal» 
terable  repose,  and  furnish  the  same  sources  of  contempla* 
tion  to  us,  that  they  did  to  those  generations  that  have  passed 
away. 

11.  It  is  true,  we  have  little  reason  to  suppose,  that  they 
were  the  guilty  dens  of  petty  tyrants,  who  let  loose  their  half 
savage  vassals  to  burn,  plunder,  enslave,  and  despoil  an  ad- 
joining den.  There  are  no  remains  of  the  vast  and  useless 
monasteries,  where  ignorant  and  lazy  monks  dreamed  over 
their  lusts,  or  meditated  their  vile  plans  of  acquisition  and 
imposture. 

12.  Here  must  have  been  a  race  of  men,  on  these  charm* 
ing  plains,  that  had  every  call  from  the  scenes  that  sur* 
rounded  them,  to  contented  existence  and  tranquil  medita* 
tion.  Unfortunate,  as  men  view  the  thing,  they  must  have 
been.  Innocent  and  peaceful  they  probably  were ;  for,  had 
they  been  reared  amid  wars  and  quarrels,  like  the  present 
Indians,  they  would,  doubtless,  have  maintained  their  ground, 
and  their  posterity  would  have  remained  to  this  day.  Be^ 
side  them  moulder  the  huge  bones  of  their  contemporary 
beasts,  which  must  have  been  of  thrice  the  size  of  the  ele* 
phant, 

13.  I  cannot  judge  of  the  recollections  excited  by  castles 
and  towers  that  I  have  not  seen.  But  I  have  seen  all  of 
grandeur,  which  our  cities  can  display.  I  have  seen,  too, 
these  lonely  tombs  of  the  desert ;  seen  them  rise  from  these 
boundless  and  unpeopled  plains.  My  imagination  and  my 
heart  have  been  full  of  the  past.  The  nothingness  of  the 
brief  dream  of  human  life  has  forced  itself  upon  my  mind. 
The  unknown  race,  to  which  these  bones  belonged,  had,  I 
doubt  not,  as  many  projects  of  ambition,  and  hoped,  as  san* 
guinely,  to  have  their  names  survive,  as  the  great  ones  of 
the  present  day,—- T»  Flint, 


cobb's  sequel.  49 

LESSON  XXX. 

The  Importance  of  a  Good  Education, 

1.  I  consider  a  human  soul  without  education,  like  marble 
in  the  quarry,  which  shows  none  of  its  inherent  beauties  until 
the  skill  of  the  polisher  fetches  out  the  colours,  makes  the  sur- 
face shine,  and  discovers  every  ornamental  cloud,  spot,  and 
vein,  that  runs  through  the  body  of  it. 

2.  Education,  after  the  same  manner,  when  it  works  upon  a 
noble  mind,  draws  out  to  view  every  latent  virtue  and  perfec- 
tion, which,  without  such  helps,  are  never  able  to  make  their 
appearance. 

3.  If  my  reader  will  give  me  leave  to  change  the  allusion  so 
soon  upon  him,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  same  instance  to  illus- 
trate the  force  of  education,  which  Aristotle  has  brought  to 
explain  his  doctrine  of  substantial  forms,  when  he  tells  us,  that 
a  statue  lies  hid  in  a  block  of  marble ;  and  that  the  art  of  the 
statuary  only  clears  away  the  superfluous  matter,  and  removes 
the  rubbish.  The  figure  is  in  the  stone,  and  the  sculptor  only 
finds  it. 

4.  What  sculpture  is  to  a  block  of  marble,  education  is  to 
a  human  soul.  The  philosopher,  the  saint,  or  the  hero,  the 
wise,  the  good,  or  the  great  man,  very  often  lies  hidden  and  con- 
cealed in  a  plebeian,  which  a  proper  education  might  have 
disinterred  and  brought  to  light,  I  am,  therefore,  much  de- 
lighted with  reading  the  accounts  of  savage  nations,  and  with 
contemplating  those  virtues  which  are  wild  and  uncultivated : 
to  see  courage  exerting  itself  in  fierceness,  resolution  in  obsti- 
nacy, wisdom  in  cunning,  patience  in  sullenness  and  despair. 

5.  Men's  passions  operate  variously,  and  appear  in  different 
kinds  of  actions,  according  as  they  are  more  or  less  rectified 
and  swayed  by  reason.  When  one  hears  of  negroes,  who,  upon 
the  death  of  their  masters,  or  upon  changing  their  service,  hang 
themselves  upon  the  next  tree,  as  it  sometimes  happens  in  our 
American  plantations,  who  can  forbear  admiring  their  fidelity, 
though  it  expresses  itself  in  so  dreadful  a  manner? 

6.  What  might  not  that  savage  greatness  of  soul,  which 
appears  in  these  poor  wretches  on  many  occasions,  be  raised 
to,  were  it  rightly  cultivated  ?  And  what  colour  of  excuse  can 
there  be  for  the  contempt  with  which  we  treat  this  part  of  our 
species ;  that  we  should  not  put  them  upon  the  common  footing 
pf  humanity ;  that  we  should  only  set  an  insignificant  fine  upon 

5 


50  cobb's  sequel. 

the  man  who  murders  them ;  nay,  that  we  should,  as  much  as 
in  us  lies,  cut  them  off  from  the  prospects  of  happiness  in  an- 
other world  as  well  as  in  this ;  and  deny  them  that,  which  we 
look  upon  as  the  proper  means  for  attaining  it  ? 

7.  It  is,  therefore,  an  unspeakable  blessing,  to  be  born  in  those 
parts  of  the  world  where  wisdom  and  knowledge  flourish; 
though  it  must  be  confessed  that  there  are,  even  in  these  parts, 
several  poor  uninstructed  persons,  who  are  but  little  above  the 
inhabitants  of  those  nations  of  which  I  have  been  here  speak- 
ing ;  as  those  who  have  had  the  advantages  of  a  more  liberal 
education,  rise  above  one  another  by  several  different  degrees 
of  perfection. 

8.  For,  to  return  to  our  statue  in  the  block  of  marble,  we  see 
it  sometimes  only  begun  to  be  chipped,  sometimes  rough  hewn, 
and  but  just  sketched  into  a  human  figure ;  sometimes  we  see 
the  man  appearing  distinctly  in  all  his  limbs  and  features  ;  some- 
times we  find  the  figure  wrought  up  to  great  elegance ;  but 
seldom  meet  with  any  to  which  the  hand  of  a  Phidias  or  a 
Praxiteles  could  not  give  several  nice  touches  and  finishings, 
— Addison. 


LESSON  XXXI. 

A  Sister's  Love. 

1.  There  is  no  purer  feeling  kindled  upon  the  altar  of  human 
affections,  than  a  sister's  pure,  uncontaminated  love  for  her 
brother.  It  is  unlike  all  other  affections ;  so  disconnected  with 
selfish  sensuality ;  so  feminine  in  its  developements ;  so  digni- 
fied, and  yet,  with  all,  so  fond,  so  devoted.  Nothing  can  alter 
it,  nothing  can  surpass  it. 

2.  The  world  may  revolve,  and  its  evolutions  effect  changes 
in  the  fortunes,  in  the  character,  and  in  the  disposition  of  the 
brother,  yet  if  he  wants,  whose  hand  will  so  speedily  stretch 
out  as  that  of  his  sister ;  and  if  his  character  is  maligned,  whose 
voice  will  so  readily  swell  in  his  advocacy. 

3.  Next  to  a  mother's  unquenchable  love,  a  sister's  is  pre-emi- 
nent. It  rests  so  exclusively  on  the  ties  of  consanguinity  for 
its  sustenance,  it  is  so  wholly  divested  of  passion,  and  springs 
from  such  a  deep  recess  in  the  human  bosom,  that  when  a  sister 
once  fondly  and  deeply  regards  her  brother,  that  affection  is 
blended  with  her  existence,  and  the  lamp  that  nourishes  it  ex- 
pires only  with  that  existence. 


cobb's  sequel.  51 

4*  In  all  the  annals  of  crime  it  is  considered  something  anom- 
alous to  find  the  hand  of  a  sister  raised  in  anger  against  her 
brother,  or  her  heart  nurturing  the  seeds  of  hatred,  envy,  or 
revenge,  in  regard  to  that  brother. 

5.  In  all  affections  of  woman  there  is  a  devotedness  which 
cannot  be  properly  appreciated  by  man.  In  those  regards 
where  the  passions  are  not  at  all  necessary  in  increasing  the 
strength  of  the  affections,  more  sincere  truth  and  pure  feeling 
may  be  expected  than  in  such  as  are  dependant  upon  each  other 
for  their  duration  as  well  as  their  felicities. 

6.  A  sister's  love,  in  this  respect,  is  peculiarly  remarkable. 
There  is  no  selfish  gratification  in  its  out-pourings ;  it  lives  from 
the  natural  impulse  ;  and  personal  charms  are  not  in  the  slight- 
est degree  necessary  to  its  birth  or  duration. — Anonymous. 


LESSON  XXXII.      i 
On  Happiness. 

1.  The  great  pursuit  of  man  is  after  happiness;  it  is  the 
first  and  strongest  desire  of  his  nature ; — in  every  stage  of  his 
life  he  searches  for  it  as  for  hidden  treasure ;  courts  it  under  a 
thousand  different  shapes ;  and,  though  perpetually  disap- 
pointed, still  persists — runs  after  and  inquires  for  it  afresh — 
asks  every  passenger  who  comes  in  his  way,  "  Who  will  show 
him  any  good ;" — who  will  assist  him  in  the  attainment  of  it, 
or  direct  him  to  the  discovery  of  this  great  end  of  all  his  wishes. 

2.  He  is  told  by  one  to  search  for  it  among  the  more  gay 
and  youthful  pleasures  of  life ;  in  scenes  of  mirth  and  spright- 
liness,  where  happiness  ever  presides,  and  is  ever  to  be  known 
by  the  joy  and  laughter  which  he  will  see  at  once  painted  in 
her  looks. 

3.  A  second,  with  a  graver  aspect,  points  out  to  him  the 
costly  dwellings  which  pride  and  extravagance  have  erected ; 
tells  the  inquirer  that  the  object  he  is  in  search  of  inhabits 
there ;  that  happiness  lives  only  in  company  with  the  great, 
in  the  midst  of  much  pomp  and  outward  state.  That  he  will 
easily  find  her  out  by  the  coat  of  many  colours  she  has  on,  and 
the  great  luxury  and  expense  of  equipage  and  furniture  with 
which  she  always  sits  surrounded. 

4.  The  miser  wonders  how  any  one  would  mislead  and 
wilfully  put  him  upon  so  wrong  a  scent — convinces  him  that 
happiness  and  extravagance  never  inhabited  under  the  same 


52  cobb's  sequel. 

roof; — that,  if  he  would  not  be  disappointed  in  his  search,  he 
must  look  into  the  plain  and  thrifty  dwelling  of  the  prudent 
man,  who  knows  and  understands  the  worth  of  money,  and 
cautiously  lays  it  up  against  an  evil  hour. 

5.  That  it  is  not  the  prostitution  of  wealth  upon  the  pas- 
sions, or  the  parting  with  it  at  all,  that  constitutes  happiness ; 
but  that  it  is  the  keeping  it  together,  and  the  having  and  hold- 
ing it  fast  to  him  anu  his  heirs  for  ever,  which  are  the  chie 
attributes  that  form  this  great  idol  of  human  worship,  to  which 
so  much  incense  is  offered  up  every  day. 

6.  The  epicure,  though  he  easily  rectifies  so  gross  a  mis- 
take, yet,  at  the  same  time,  he  pluhges  him,  if  possible,  into  a 
greater ;  for,  hearing  the  object  of  his  pursuit  to  be  happiness, 
and  knowing  of  no  other  happiness  than  what  is  seated  imme- 
diately in  his  senses,  he  sends  the  inquirer  there ;  tells  him  it 
is  in  vain  to  search  elsewhere  for  it,  than  where  nature  herself 
has  placed  it,  in  the  indulgence  and  gratification  of  the  appe- 
tites, which  are  given  us  for  that  end  t  and,  in  a  word,  if  he 
will  not  take  his  opinion  in  the  matter,  he  may  trust  the  word 
of  a  much  wiser  man,  who  has  assured  us,  that  there  is  nothing 
better  in  this  world,  than  that  a  man  should  eat  and  drink,  ana 
rejoice  in  his  works,  and  make  his  soul  enjoy  good  in  his  labour 
— for  that  is  his  portion. 

7»  To  rescue  him  from  this  brutal  experiment,  ambition 
takes  him  by  the  hand  and  carries  him  into  the  world ;  shows 
him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  and  the  glory  of  them ; 
points  out  the  many  ways  of  advancing  his  fortune,  and  raising 
himself  to  honour ;  lays  before  his  eyes  all  the  charms  and 
bewitching  temptations  of  power,  and  asks  if  there  be  any 
happiness  in  this  world  like  that  of  being  caressed,  courted, 
flattered,  and  followed. 

8.  To  close  all,  the  philosopher  meets  him  bustling  in  the 
full  career  of  his  pursuits — stops  him — tells  him,  if  he  is  in 
search  of  happiness,  he  is  gone  far  out  of  his  way : — that  this 
deity  has  long  been  banished  from  noise  and  tumults,  where 
there  was  no  rest  found  for  her,  and  was  fled  into  solitude,  far 
from  all  commerce  of  the  world ;  and,  in  a  word,  if  he  would 
find  her,  he  must  leave  this  busy  and  intriguing  scene,  and  go 
back  to  that  peaceful  scene  of  retirement  and  books,  from  which 
he  first  set  out. 

9»  In  this  circle,  too  often  does  a  man  run,  tries  all  experi- 
ments, and  generally  sits  down  wearied  and  dissatisfied  with 
them  all  at  last — in  utter  despair  of  ever  accomplishing  what 
he  wants — not  knowing  what  to  trust  to  after  so  many  disap- 
pointments, or  where  to  lay  the  fault,  whether  in  the  incapa- 


cobb's  sequel.  53 

city  of  his  own  nature,  or  the  insufficiency  of  the  enjoyments 
themselves. 

10.  There  is  hardly  any  subject  more  exhausted,  or  which, 
at  one  time  or  other,  has  afforded  more  matter  for  argument 
and  declamation  than  this  one,  of  the  insufficiency  of  our  en- 
joyments. Scarce  a  reformed  sensualist,  from  Solomon  down 
to  our  own  days,  who  has  not  in  some  fits  of  repentance  or  dis- 
appointment, uttered  some  sharp  reflection  upon  the  emptiness 
of  human  pleasure,  and  of  the  vanity  of  vanities  which  dis* 
covers  itself  in  all  the  pursuits  of  mortal  man. 

11.  And  though  in  our  pilgrimage  through  this  world,  some 
of  us  may  be  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  with  some  clear  fountains 
by  the  way,  that  may  cool  for  a  few  moments  the  heat  of  this 
great  thirst  of  happiness ;  yet  our  Saviour,  who  knew  the  world, 
though  he  enjoyed  but  little  of  it,  tells  us,  that  whosoever  drink- 
eth  of  this  water  will  thirst  again ;  and  we  will  find  by  experi- 
ence it  is  so,  and  by  reason,  that  it  always  must  be  so. — Sterne. 


LESSON  XXXIII. 
Liberty  and  Slavery. 

1.  Disguise  thyself  as  thou  wilt,  still  slavery ! — still  thou  art 
a  bitter  draught ;  and  though  thousands  in  all  ages  have  been 
made  to  drink  of  thee,  thou  art  no  less  bitter  on  that  account. 

2.  It  is  thou,  Liberty  ! — thrice  sweet  and  gracious  goddess  ! 
whom  all,  in  publick  or  in  private,  worship ;  whose  taste  is 
grateful,  and  ever  will  be  so  till  nature  herself  shall  change. 
No  teint  of  words  can  spot  thy  snowy  mantle,  or  chymick 
power  turn  thy  sceptre  into  iron.  • 

3.  With  thee  to  smile  upon  him  as  he  eats  his  crust,  the 
swain  is  happier  than  his  monarch,  from  whose  court  thou  art 
exiled.  Gracious  heaven !  grant  me  but  health,  thou  great 
Bestower  of  it !  and  give  me  but  this  fair  goddess  as  my  com- 
panion ;  and  shower  down  thy  mitres,  if  it  seem  good  unto  thy 
divine  providence,  upon  those  heads  which  are  aching  for  them. 

4.  Pursuing  these  ideas,  I  sat  down  close  to  my  table,  and 
leaning  my  head  upon  my  hand,  I  began  to  figure  to  myself  the 
miseries  of  confinement.  I  was  in  a  right  frame  for  it,  and  so 
1  gave  full  scope  to  my  imagination. 

5.  I  was  going  to  begin  with  the  millions  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures, born  to  no  inheritance  but  slavery ;  but  finding,  however 
affecting  the  picture  was,  that  I  could  not  bring  it  near  me,  and 


64  cobb's  sequel* 

the  multitude  of  sad  groups  in  it  did  but  distract  me,  I  took  a 
single  captive ;  and  having  shut  him  Up  in  his  dungeon,  I  then 
looked  through  the  twilight  of  his  grated  door  to  take  his 
picture. 

6.  I  beheld  his  body  half  wasted  away  with  long  expecta- 
tion and  confinement  \  and  felt  what  kind  of  sickness  of  the 
heart  it  is  which  arises  from  hope  deferred.  Upon  looking 
nearer,  I  saw  him  pale  and  feverish.  In  thirty  years  the  west- 
ern breeze  had  not  once  fanned  his  blood. 

7.  He  had  seen  no  sun*  no  moon  in  all  that  time,  nor  had 
the  voice  of  a  friend  or  kinsman  breathed  through  his  lattice. 
His  children ;  but  here  my  heart  began  to  bleed,  and  I  was 
forced  to  go  on  with  another  part  of  his  portrait. 

8.  He  was  sitting  upon  the  ground  upon  a  little  straw  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  his  dungeon,  which  was  alternately  his  chair 
and  bed.  A  little  calendar  of  small  sticks  was  laid  at  the  head, 
notched  all  over  with  the  dismal  days  and  nights  he  had  passed 
there. 

9.  He  had  one  of  these  little  sticks  in  his  hand,  and  with  a 
rusty  nail  he  was  etching  another  day  of  misery  to  add  to  the 
heap.  As  I  darkened  the  little  light  he  had,  he  lifted  up  a 
hopeless  eye  towards  the  door,  then  cast  it  down,  shook  his 
head,  and  went  on  with  his  work  of  affliction. 

10.  I  heard  his  chains  upon  his  legs,  as  he  turned  his  body 
to  lay  his  little  stick  upon  the  bundle.  He  gave  a  deep  sigh. 
I  saw  the  iron  enter  into  his  soul.  I  burst  into  tears.  I  could 
hot  sustain  the  picture  of  confinement  which  my  fancy  had 
drawn. — Sterne. 


LESSON  XXXIV, 

May  Morning. 

1.  Beautifully  broke  forth  the  clear,  bright  sun,  and  balmy 
Was  the  breath  of  "  incense-breathing  morn,"  which  welcomed 
the  coming  of  this  queen  of  the  months.  The  blue  sky  seemed 
to  smile,  and  the  early  birds  were  loud  with  their  salutations. 
Nature,  by  a  thousand  cheerful  sights  and  a  thousand  sweet 
sounds,  testified  her  rejoicing,  and  the  earth  had  decked  her 
bosom  with  the  first  little  flowers  and  budding  greens  for  the 
steps  of  her  lovely  visiter. 

2.  But  what  was  all  this  to  one  imprisoned  within  the  dark 
chambers  of  the  city;  where  the  early  hum  of  human  trafnck 


COBB's    SEQUEL.  56 

drowns  the  melody  of  nature's  hymns,  and  the  high  piles  of 
trick  shut  from  sight  the  azure  heavens  and  the  rainbow  clouds? 
Man  learns  to  sleep  over  the  tokens  of  reviving  spring,  hard- 
ened to  its  holy  serenity  by  the  bustling  avocations  of  ambition 
and  gain. 

3.  But  childhood  yet  feels  its  native  sympathy  with  the 
young  year,  and  owns  its  influence,  and  loves  to  go  forth  with 
the  glad  birds  and  the  infant  flowers.  It  was  the  voice  of 
children  cheerfully  preparing  for  their  May-morning  stroll, 
which  broke  my  slumbers.  The  sun,  just  risen,  poured  a  tran- 
quil light  abroad,  and  I  sprung  from  my  couch  resolved  once 
more  to  be  a  child,  and  taste  the  pleasures  of  spring-time  in 
the  fields. 

4.  I  soon  passed  the  streets  and  the  bridge,  and  was  fairly 
in  the  country.  I  breathed  a  fresher  air,  I  trod  with  a  freer 
step;  I  was  in  the  domains  of  nature  once  more,  escaped 
from  the  confinement  of  man's  invention,  and  the  crowd  of 
man's  works ;  I  saw  nothing  around  me  but  the  works  of  God, 
and  the  light  and  peace  which  he  sheds  upon  the  world  that 
he  loves — loves  and  blesses  in  spite  of  its  sins. 

5.  I  looked  upward,  and,  in  letters  of  living  light,  the  heav- 
ens spread  before  me  his  love.  I  looked  around,  and  I  saw 
it  in  the  swelling  blossoms,  in  the  budding  branches,  in  the 
springing  carpet  of  green.  It  came  to  my  ear  in  the  glad 
melody  of  the  birds,  and  in  the  heart-felt  accents  of  delight 
which  burst  from  the  groups  of  happy  and  active  children. 

6.  I  felt  it  in  every  breath  I  drew,  laden  with  the  morning 
fragrance,  which  is  sweeter  than  all  perfume,  and  wafts  health 
and  pleasure  on  its  wing.  It  all  has  but  one  Author,  I  ex- 
claimed, and  he  is  love. 

7.  It  is  His  spirit  which  breathes  in  the  gale,  and  lives  in  all 
these  signs  of  joy  and  life. 

"  Thy  footsteps  imprint  the  morning  hills, 
Thy  voice  is  heard  in  the  musick  of  rills, 
In  the  song  of  birds,  and  the  heavenly  chorus 
That  nature  utters  around  us,  o'er  us. 
In  every  thing;  thy  glory  beameth ; 
From  every  thing  thy  witness  streameth." 

8.  And  so  it  has  been  from  the  beginning :  "  He  has  never 
left  himself  without  witness ;"  and  what  more  delightful  wit- 
ness than  these  days,  in  which  "  he  renews  the  face  of  the 
earth  V'  It  seems  like  the  freshness  and  purity  of  an  original 
creation.    I  was  ready  to  say  with  Buchanan,  in  his  beautiful 


56  cobb's  sequel. 

hymn,  on  such  a  morning  as  this  it  was  that  the  new  created 
world  sprung  up  at  God's  command. 

9.  This  is  the  air  of  holy  tranquillity  which  was  then  upon 
all  things ;  this  the  clear  and  fragrant  breath  that  passed  over 
the  smiling  gardens  of  Eden ;  this  the  same  sweet  light  that 
then  shot  down  from  the  new-born  sun,  and  diffused  a  gentle 
rapture  over  the  face  of  nature,  and  through  the  frame  of  living 
things. 

10.  And  such,  too,  shall  be  the  aspect  of  that  morning  which 
ushers  in  the  spring-time  of  heaven's  eternal  year :  such  the 
serenity  and  glory  of  that  day  which  shall  call  forth  to  renewed 
existence,  not  the  plants  and  flowers  from  a  temporary  death, 
but  the  spirits  of  immortal  men ;  and  shall  roll  through  earth 
and  heaven,  not  the  musick  of  an  earthly  spring-time,  but  the 
rapturous  anthems  of  the  ransomed  children  of  God,  rising 
to  the  birth  of  the  everlasting  year. 

11.  Hail,  then,  all  hail,  thou  fair  morning  of  this  fairest  of 
the  months  ! — emblem  of  the  fairer  morning  that  yet  shall  be ; 
memorial  of  the  nativity  of  earth ;  image  of  God's  ever-present 
love  ;  pledge  of  an  everlasting  year !  Thou  shalt  pass  away, 
beautiful  as  thou  art,  and  thy  blossoms  and  pleasures  perish. 
The  hot  summer  shall  scorch  them,  and  the  stormy  winter  bury 
them  beneath  his  snows.  But  that  glorious  spring-time,  which 
shall  revive  the  being  of  man,  shall  never  fade.  The  soul 
shall  blossom  and  flourish  for  ever  in  the  garden  of  God.  His 
spirit  breathes  there  a  perpetual  balm,  and  the  sunshine  of  his 
countenance  knows  no  variableness  nor  shadow  of  change. 

12.  Roll  on  ye  tardy  seasons ;  accomplish  your  appointed 
periods,  and  introduce  that  unfading  May.  Ye  may  change, 
but  ye  bring  on  that  which  cannot  change.  Ye  may  waft  to 
me  sorrows  and  disappointments  as  ye  fly,  but  ye  are  fast 
bearing  me  where  sorrow  and  disappointment  cannot  come. 
And  I  will  welcome  even  the  winter  of  death,  since  it  shall  be 
followed  by  the  spring  of  heaven. — H.  Ware,  Jr. 


LESSON  XXXV. 

The  Happy  Man. 


1.  How  happy  is  he  born  or  taught, 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 
Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought, 
And  simple  truth  his  highest  skill : 


COBB  S   SEQUEL*  57 

2.  Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are ; 

Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  death, 
Not  tied  unto  the  world  with  care 
Of  princes'  ear,  or  vulgar  breath : 

3.  Who  hath  his  life  from  rumours  freed ; 

Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great ; 

4.  Who  envies  none  whom  chance  doth  raise, 

Or  vice :  who  never  understood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  with  praise ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good: 

5.  Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 

More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
With  a  well-chosen  book  or  friend. 

6.  This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 

Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall ; 
Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands ; 
And,  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 

Sir  Henry  Wotton 


LESSON  XXXVI. 

Women  Polish  and  Improve  Society. 

1.  Among  the  innumerable  ties  by  which  mankind  are  drawn 
and  held  together,  may  be  fairly  reckoned  that  love  of  praise, 
which  perhaps  is  the  earliest  passion  of  human  beings.  It  is 
wonderful  how  soon  children  begin  to  look  out  for  notice,  and 
for  consequence. 

2.  To  attract  mutual  regards  by  mutual  services,  is  one  chief 
aim,  and  one  important  operation,  of  a  principle,  which  I  should 
be  sorry  to  think  that  any  of  you  had  outlived.  No  sooner  do 
the  social  affections  unfold  themselves,  than  youth  appear 
ambitious  to  deserve  the  approbation  of  those  around  them. 
Their  desires  of  this  kind  are  more  lively,  as  their  dispositions 
are  more  ingenious. 

3.  Of  those  boys  who  discover  the  greatest  ardour  to  obtain, 


58  COBB  S   SEQUEL. 

by  their  capacity,  their  spirit,  or  their  generosity,  the  esteem 
of  their  companions,  it  may  be  commonly  observed,  that  they 
shoot  up  into  the  most  valuable  characters. 

4.  Eagerness  for  the  admiration  of  school-fellows  and  others, 
without  distinction  of  sex,  is  felt  at  first ;  but  when,  in  process 
of  time,  the  bosom  becomes  sensible  to  that  distinction,  it  begins 
to  beat  with  a  peculiar  anxiety  to  please  the  female  part  of  your 
acquaintance.  The  smiles,  the  applause,  the  attachment  of 
young  women,  you  now  consider  as  conferring  felicity  of  a 
more  interesting  nature ;  and  to  secure  such  happiness,  is  from 
henceforth  an  object  that  incites  and  influences  you  on  a  thou- 
sand occasions. 

5.  By  an  increasing  susceptibility  to  the  attractions  of  the 
softer  sex,  you  are  carried  more  and  more  into  their  company : 
and  there,  my  brothers,  your  hearts  and  manners,  your  tastes 
and  pursuits,  receive  very  often  a  direction  that  remains  ever 
after,  and  that  will  probably  decide  your  destiny  through  the 
whole  of  your  existence. 

6.  I  am  aware,  indeed,  that  to  underrate  their  importance, 
and  cultivate  their  commerce  only  as  subservient  to  conveni- 
ence, amusement,  or  voluptuousness,  is  common  among  the 
ignorant,  the  petulant,  and  the  profligate  of  our  sex ;  but,  happy 
as  I  have  been  in  the  conversation  of  many  worthy  and  accom- 
plished persons  of  the  other,  I  would  willingly,  if  possible, 
prevent  your  adopting  a  system  alike  ungenerous  and  false. 

7.  It  is  certain,  that  savages,  and  those  who  are  but  little 
removed  from  their  condition,  have  seldom  behaved  to  women 
with  much  respect  or  tenderness.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
known,  that  in  civilized  nations  they  have  ever  been  objects 
of  both :  that,  in  the  most  heroick  states  of  antiquity,  their  judge- 
ment was  often  honoured  as  the  standard,  and  tneir  suffrages 
often  sought  as  the  reward  of  merit. 

8.  And  though  in  those  states  the  allurement  of  feminine 
softness  was  perhaps  not  always  sufficiently  understood,  owing 
probably  to  that  passion  for  publick  interest,  and  extensive  fame, 
which  seems  to  have  overpowered  all  other  emotions ;  it  must 
yet  be  acknowledged,  that  the  ladies  of  ancient  days  frequently 
possessed  a  wonderful  influence  in  what  concerned  the  political 
welfare,  and  private  affections,  of  the  people  to  whom  they 
belonged. 

9.  But  say,  my  friends,  does  it  not  reflect  some  lustre  on 
the  fair  sex,  that  their  talents  and  virtues  have  still  been  most 
revered  in  periods  of  the  greatest  renown  ?  And  tell  me,  I 
beseech  you,  what  age  or  country,  distinguished  in  the  annals 
of  fame,  has  not  received  a  part  of  that  distinction  from  the 


cobb's  sequel.  59 

numbers  of  women  whom  it  produced,  conspicuous  for  their 
virtues  and  their  talents  ? 

10.  Look  at  this,  in  which  you  live,  does  it  not  derive  a  very- 
considerable  share  of  its  reputation  from  the  female  pens  that 
eminently  adorn  it?  Look  into  the  history  of  the  world  at 
large ;  do  you  not  find,  that  the  female  sex  have,  in  a  variety 
of  ways,  contributed  largely  to  many  of  its  most  important 
events  ? 

11.  Look  into  the  great  machine  of  society,  as  it  moves 
before  you :  do  you  not  perceive  that  they  are  still  among  its 
principal  springs  ?  Do  not  their  characters  and  manners  deeply 
affect  the  passions  of  men,  the  interests  of  education,  and  those 
domestick  scenes  where  so  much  of  life  is  past,  and  with  which 
its  happiness  or  misery  is  so  intimately  blended  ? 

12.  Consult  your  own  experience,  and  confess  whether  you 
are  not  touched  by  almost  every  thing  they  do  or  say,  or  look ; 
confess  whether  their  very  foibles  and  follies  do  not  often 
interest,  and  sometimes  please  you  ? 

13.  There  cannot,  I  am  persuaded,  be  many  worse  symp- 
toms of  degeneracy,  in  an  enlightened  age,  than  a  growing 
indifference  about  the  regards  of  reputable  women,  and  a  fash- 
ionable propensity  to  lessen  the  sex  in  general. 

14.  Where  this  is  the  case,  the  decencies  of  life,  the  softness 
of  love,  the  sweets  of  friendship,  the  nameless  tender  charities 
that  pervade  and  unite  the  most  virtuous  form  of  cultivated 
society,  are  not  likely  to  be  held  in  high  estimation ;  and  when 
these  fall  into  contempt,  what  is  there  left  to  polish,  humanize, 
or  delight  mankind  ? — Fordyce. 


LESSON  XXXVII. 

The  Wonders  of  Nature. 

1.  How  mighty!  how  majestick !  and  how  mysterious  are 
nature's  works  !  When  the  air  is  calm,  where  sleep  the  stormy 
winds  1  In  what  chambers  are  they  reposed,  or  in  what  dun- 
geons confined  ?  But  when  He,  "  who  holds  them  in  his  fist," 
is  pleased  to  awaken  their  rage,  and  throw  open  their  prison 
doors,  then,  with  irresistible  impetuosity,  they  rush  forth,  scat- 
tering dread,  and  menacing  destruction. 

2.  The  atmosphere  is  hurled  into  the  most  tumultuous  con- 
fusion. The  aerial  torrent  bursts  its  way  over  mountains,  seas, 
and  continent.    All  things  feel  the  dreadful  shock.    All  things 


CO  cobb's  sequel. 

tremble  before  the  furious  blast.     The  forest,  vexed  and  torn, 
groans  under  the  scourge. 

3.  Her  sturdy  sons  are  strained  to  the  very  root,  and  almost 
sweep  the  soil  they  were  wont  to  shade.  The  stubborn  oak, 
that  disdains  to  bend,  is  dashed  headlong  to  the  ground  ;  and, 
with  shattered  arms,  with  prostrate  trunk,  blocks  up  the  road. 
While  the  flexile  reed,  that  springs  up  in  the  marsh,  yielding 
to  the  gust,  (as  the  meek  and  pliant  temper  to  injuries,  or  the 
resigned  and  patient  spirit  to  misfortunes,)  eludes  the  force  of 
the  storm,  and  survives  amid  the  wide-spread  havock. 

4.  For  a  moment,  the  turbulent  and  outrageous  sky  seems  to 
be  assuaged ;  but  it  intermits  its  warmth,  only  to  increase  its 
strength.  Soon  the  sounding  squadrons  of  the  air  return  to 
the  attack,  and  renew  their  ravages  with  redoubled  fury.  The 
stately  dome  rocks  amid  the  wheeling  clouds.  The  impreg- 
nable tower  totters  on  its  basis,  and  threatens  to  overwhelm 
whom  it  was  intended  to  protect. 

5.  The  ragged  rocks  are  rent  in  pieces ;  and  even  the  hills, 
the  perpetual  hills,  on  their  deep  foundations  are  scarcely 
secure.  Where  now  is  the  place  of  safety,  when  the  city  reels, 
and  houses  become  heaps  ?  Sleep  affrighted  flies.  Diversion 
is  turned  into  horrour.  All  is  uproar  in  the  elements ;  all  is 
consternation  among  mortals ;  and  nothing  but  one  wide  scene 
of  rueful  devastation  through  the  land. 

6.  The  ocean  swells  with  tremendous  commotions.  The 
ponderous  waves  are  heaved  from  their  capacious  bed,  and 
almost  lay  bare  the  unfathomable  deep.  Flung  into  the  most 
rapid  agitation,  they  sweep  over  the  rocks ;  they  lash  thf  *ofty 
cliffs,  and  toss  themselves  into  the  clouds. 

7.  Navies  are  rent  from  their  anchors ;  and,  with  all  their 
enormous  load,  are  whirled  swift  as  the  arrow,  wild  as  the 
winds,  along  the  vast  abyss.  Now  they  climb  the  rolling 
mountain ;  they  plough  the  frightful  ridge,  and  seem  to  skim 
the  skies.  Anon  they  plunge  into  the  opening  gulf;  they  lose 
the  sight  of  day,  and  are  lost  themselves  to  every  eye. 

8.  How  vain  is  the  pilot's  art ;  how  impotent  the  mariner's 
strength !  "  They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger  like  a  drunken 
man."  Despair  is  in  every  face,  and  death  sits  threatening  on 
every  surge.  But  when  Omnipotence  pleases  to  command, 
the  storm  is  hushed  to  silence ;  the  lightnings  lay  aside  their 
fiery  bolts,  and  the  billows  cease  to  roll. — Hervey. 


cobb's  sequel.  61 

LESSON  XXXVIII. 

Female  Accomplishments. 

1.  A  young  lady  may  excel  in  speaking  French  and  Italian ; 
may  repeat  a  few  passages  from  a  volume  of  extracts ;  play 
like  a  professor,  and  sing  like  a  siren  ;  have  her  dressing  room 
decorated  with  her  own  drawing,  tables,  stands,  flower-pots, 
screens,  and  cabinets ;  nay,  she  may  dance  like  Sempronia 
herself,  and  yet  we  shall  insist  that  she  may  have  been  very 
badly  educated. 

2.  I  am  far  from  meaning  to  set  no  value  whatever  on  any 
or  all  of  these  qualifications ;  they  are  all  of  them  elegant,  and 
many  of  them  properly  tend  to  the  perfecting  of  a  polite  edu- 
cation. These  things,  in  their  measure  and  degree,  may  be 
done ;  but  there  are  others  which  should  not  be  left  undone. 
Many  things  are  becoming,  but  "  one  thing  is  needful."  Be- 
sides, as  the  world  seems  to  be  fully  apprized  of  the  value  of 
whatever  tends  to  embellish  life,  there  is  less  occasion  here  to 
insist  on  its  importance. 

3.  But,  though  a  well  bred  young  lady  may  lawfully  learn 
most  of  the  fashionable  arts ;  yet,  let  me  ask,  does  it  seem  to 
be  the  true  end  of  education  to  make  women  of  fashion  dan- 
cers, singers,  players,  painters,  actresses,  sculptors,  gilders, 
varnishers,  engravers,  and  embroiderers  1  Most  men  are  com- 
monly destined  to  some  profession,  and  their  minds  are  conse- 
quently turned  each  to  its  respective  object.  *  •* 

4.  Would  it  not  be  strange  if  they  were  called  out  to  exer- 
cise their  profession,  or  to  set  up  their  trade,  with  only  a  little 
general  knowledge  of  the  trades  and  professions  of  all  other 
men,  and  without  any  previous  definite  application  to  their  own 
peculiar  calling  ?  The  profession  of  ladies,  to  which  the  bent 
of  their  instruction  should  be  turned,  is  that  of  daughters,  wives, 
mothers,  and  mistresses  of  families. 

5.  They  should  be  therefore  trained  with  a  view  to  these 
several  conditions,  and  be  furnished  with  a  stock  of  ideas,  and 
principles,  and  qualifications,  and  habits,  ready  to  be  applied 
and  appropriated,  as  occasion  may  demand,  to  each  of  these 
respective  situations.  For  though  the  arts,  which  merely  em- 
bellish life,  must  claim  admiration ;  yet,  when  a  man  of  sense 
comes  to  marry,  it  is  a  companion  whom  he  wants,  and  not  an 
artist. 

6.  It  is  not  merely  a  creature  who  can  paint,  and  play,  an^ 

6 


62  cobb's  sequel. 

sing,  and  draw,  and  dress,  and  dance ;  it  is  a  being  who  can 
comfort  and  counsel  him ;  one  who  can  reason,  and  reflect,  and 
feel,  and  judge,  and  discourse,  and  discriminate ;  one  who  can 
assist  him  in  his  affairs,  lighten  his  cares,  sooth  his  sorrows, 
purify  his  joys,  strengthen  his  principles,  and  educate  his  chil- 
dren.— Hannah  More. 


LESSON  XXXIX. 

The  Beggar's  Petition. 

1.  Pitv  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door, 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span : 
Oh !  give  relief,  and  Heaven  will  bless  your  store. 

2.  These  tattered  clothes  my  poverty  bespeak ; 

These  hoary  locks  proclaim  my  lengthened  years ; 
And  many  a  furrow,  in  my  grief-worn  cheek, 
Has  been  the  channel  to  a  flood  of  tears. 

3.  Yon  house,  erected  on  the  rising-ground, 

With  tempting  aspect,  drew  me  from  my  road ; 
For  Plenty,  there,  a  residence  has  found, 
And  Grandeur  a  magnificent  abode. 

4.  Hard  is  the  fate  of  the  infirm  and  poor : 

Here,  as  I  craved  a  morsel  of  their  bread, 
A  pampered  menial  drove  me  from  the  door, 
To  seek  a  shelter  in  an  humbler  shed. 

5.  Oh !  take  me  to  your  hospitable  dome ; 

Keen  blows  the  wind,  and  piercing  is  the  cold ; 
Short  is  my  passage  to  the  friendly  tomb, 
For  I  am  poor,  and  miserably  old. 

6.  Should  I  reveal  the  sources  of  my  grief, 

If  soft  humanity  e'er  touched  your  breast, 

Your  hands  would  not  withhold  the  kind  relief, 

And  tears  of  pity  would  not  be  repressed. 

7.  Heaven  sends  misfortunes :  why  should  we  repine  ! 

*Tis  Heaven  has  brought  me  to  the  state  you  see : 


cobb's  sequel.  63 

And  your  condition  may  be  soon  like  mine, 
The  child  of  sorrow  and  of  misery. 

8.  A  little  farm  was  my  paternal  lot : 

Then,  like  the  lark,  I  sprightly  hailed  the  morn : 
But,  ah  !  oppression  forced  me  from  my  cot ; 
My  cattle  died,  and  blighted  was  my  corn. 

9.  My  daughter, — once  the  comfort  of  my  age, — 

Lured,  by  a  villain,  from  her  native  home, 

Is  cast,  abandoned,  on  the  world's  wide  stage, 

And  doomed,  in  scanty  poverty,  to  roam. 

10.  My  tender  wife, — sweet  soother  of  my  care  ! — 

Struck  with  sad  anguish  at  the  stern  decree, 
Fell,  lingering  fell,  a  victim  to  despair, 

And  left  the  world  to  wretchedness  and  me. 

11.  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door, 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span : 
Oh !  give  relief,  and  Heaven  will  bless  your  store. 

Anonymous 


LESSON  XL. 

The  Dignity  of  Human  Nature. 
Extract  of  an  Oration  delivered  at  Rhode  Island  College,  1796. 

1.  Guided  by  reason,  man  has  travelled  through  the  abstruse 
regions  of  the  philosophick  world.  He  has  originated  rules  by 
which  he  can  direct  the  ship  through  the  pathless  ocean,  and 
measure  the  comet's  flight  over  the  fields  of  unlimited  space. 
He  has  established  society  and  government.  He  can  aggre- 
gate the  profusions  of  every  climate,  and  every  season.  He 
can  meliorate  the  severity,  and  remedy  the  imperfections  of 
nature  herself.  All  these  things  he  can  perform  by  the  assist- 
ance of  reason. 

2.  By  imagination,  man  seems  to  verge  towards  creative 
power.  Aided  by  this,  he  can  perform  all  the  wonders  of 
sculpture  and  painting.  He  can  almost  make  the  marble  speak. 
Je  can  almost  make  the  brook  murmur  down  the  painted  land- 


64  cobb's  sequel. 

scape.  Often,  on  the  pinions  of  imagination,  he  soars  aloft 
where  the  eye  has  never  travelled ;  where  other  stars  glitter 
on  the  mantle  of  night,  and  a  more  effulgent  sun  lights  up  the 
blushes  of  morning. 

3.  Flying  from  world  to  world,  he  gazes  on  all  the  glories 
of  creation ;  or,  lighting  on  the  distant  margin  of  the  universe, 
darts  the  eye  of  fancy  over  the  mighty  void,  where  power  crea- 
tive never  yet  has  energized,  where  existence  still  sleeps  in  the 
wide  abyss  of  possibility. 

4.  By  imagination  he  can  travel  back  to  the  source  of  time ; 
converse  with  the  successive  generations  of  men,  and  kindle 
into  emulation  while  he  surveys  the  monumental  trophies  of 
ancient  art  and  glory.  He  can  sail  down  the  stream  of  time 
until  he  loses  "  sight  of  stars  and  sun,  by  wandering  into  those 
retired  parts  of  eternity,  when  the  heavens  and  the  earth  shall 
be  no  more." 

5.  To  these  unequivocal  characteristicks  of  greatness  in  man, 
let  us  adduce  the  testimony  of  nature  herself.  Surrounding 
creation  subserves  the  wants  and  proclaims  the  dignity  of  man. 
For  him  day  and  night  visit  the  world.  For  him  the  seasons 
walk  their  splendid  round.  For  him  the  earth  teems  with 
riches,  and  the  heavens  smile  with  beneficence. 

6.  All  creation  is  accurately  adjusted  to  his  capacity  for  bliss. 
He  tastes  the  dainties  of  festivity,  breathes  the  perfumes  of 
morning,  revels  on  the  charms  of  melody,  and  regales  his  eye 
with  all  the  painted  beauties  of  vision.  Whatever  can  please, 
whatever  can  charm,  whatever  can  expand  the  soul  with  ecstasy 
of  bliss,  allures  and  solicits  his  attention.  All  things  beautiful, 
all  things  grand,  all  things  sublime,  appear  in  native  loveliness, 
and  proffer  man  the  richest  pleasures  of  fruition. 


LESSON  XLI. 

Education  Prevents  Crime. 

1.  Crime,  we  fear,  must  increase  numerically  in  every  na- 
tion with  the  increase  of  population  and  wealth ;  but  it  is  a 
great  mistake  to  suppose,  that  they  increase  more  than  acts 
of  virtue  and  beneficence,  and  a  still  greater  to  suppose,  that 
any  part  of  the  former  increase  is  owing  to  the  diffusion  of 
knowledge.  This,  on  the  contrary,  is,  beyond  all  doubt,  a 
great  counteracting  cause. 

2.  Vice,  it  is  now  generally  agreed,  proceeds  from  ignorance ; 


co mi's  sequex.  66 

and  the  only  sure  way  to  reclaim  or  to  secure  men  from  its 
temptations,  is  to  instruct  them  as  to  the  consequences  of  their 
yielding.  The  great  causes  of  crime  are,  the  want  of  means 
to  prosecute  lawful  industry  with  success ;  the  want  of  habits 
of  reflection,  and  self-command  to  point  out  the  consequences 
of  misconduct,  and  to  ensure  effect  to  the  conviction ;  and  the 
want  of  innocent  and  interesting  occupations  to  dispel  the  ennui 
of  idleness  and  insignificance. 

3.  Now,  education  strikes  directly  at  the  root  of  all  these 
causes  of  evil :  and  to  say  that  a  man,  who  has  been  qualified 
by  instruction  for  almost  every  species  of  honest  industry; 
whose  faculties  and  powers  of  reflection  have  been  cultivated 
by  study ;  and  to  whom  boundless  sources  of  interesting  specu- 
lation and  honourable  ambition  have  thus  been  laid  open,  is, 
in  consequence  of  these  very  things,  more  likely  to  commit 
crimes  than  one  in  opposite  circumstances,  is  obviously  to 
maintain,  not  an  erroneous,  but  an  absurd  proposition,  and,  in 
fact,  to  be  guilty  of  a  plain  contradiction  in  terms. 

4.  It  is  very  true  that  education  will  not  absolutely  eradicate 
our  evil  propensities,  and  that  to  those  depraved  individuals 
whom  it  has  not  been  able  to  correct,  it  may  occasionally  afford 
the  means  of  more  deliberate  and  more  effective  guilt.  It 
is  quite  true,  for  example,  that  a  man  who  has  been  taught 
to  write  is  better  qualified  to  commit  forgery  than  one  who 
has  not. 

5.  But  it  is  equally  true,  that  a  man  who  can  speak  is  better 
fitted  to  commit  perjury  than  one  who  is  dumb ;  and  that  one 
who  has  been  cured  of  palsy,  is  more  likely  to  engage  in  assaults 
than  one  who  is  still  disabled  by  such  a  malady :  but  it  is  no 
more  the  natural  or  common  use  of  the  power  of  writing  to 
facilitate  forgery,  than  it  is  of  speech  or  manual  vigour  to  for* 
ward  deceit  or  violence ;  and  the  reasoning  is  not  less  absurd, 
which  would,  on  such  grounds,  arraign  the  expediency  of 
teaching  all  men  to  write,  than  that  by  which  it  should  be  con- 
cluded, that  the  world  would  be  much  happier  and  better  if  the 
bulk  of  mankind  were  mute  and  incapable  of  motion ! 

Edinburgh  Review. 


LESSON  XLII. 

Address  to  the  Sun. 


1.  O  thou,  that  rollest  above,  round  as  the  shield  of  my 
fathers ! — Whence  are  thy  beams,  O  sun  !■— thy  everlasting 

6* 


66  cobb's  sequel. 

light  ?  Thou  comest  forth,  in  thy  awful  beauty,  and  the  stars 
hide  themselves  in  the  sky ;  the  moon,  cold  and  pale,  sinks  in 
the  western  wave.  But  thou  thyself  movest  alone  :  who  can 
be  a  companion  of  thy  course  ?  The  oaks  of  the  mountains 
fall :  the  mountains  themselves  decay  with  years :  the  ocean 
shrinks  and  grows  again :  the  moon  herself  is  lost  in  heaven ; 
but  thou  art  for  ever  the  same,  rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of 
thy  course. 

2.  When  the  world  is  dark  with  tempests ;  when  thunder 
rolls,  and  lightning  flies ;  thou  lookest  in  thy  beauty  from  the 
clouds,  and  laughest  at  the  storm.  But,  to  Ossian,  thou  lookest 
in  vain,  for  he  beholds  thy  beams  no  more ;  whether  thy  yel- 
low hair  flows  on  the  eastern  clouds,  or  thou  tremblest  at  the 
gates  of  the  west.  But  thou  art,  perhaps,  like  me,  for  a  season, 
and  thy  years  will  have  an  end.  Thou  shalt  sleep  in  thy 
clouds,  careless  of  the  voice  of  the  morning. 

3.  Exult  then,  O  sun,  in  the  strength  of  thy  youth  !  Age  is 
dark  and  unlovely ;  it  is  like  the  glimmering  light  of  the  moon 
when  it  shines  through  broken  clouds,  and  the  mist  is  on  the 
hills  ;  the  blast  of  the  north  is  on  the  plain,  the  traveller  shrinks 
in  the  midst  of  his  journey. — Ossian. 


LESSON  XLIII. 
Song  of  the  Pilgrims. 

1.  The  breeze  has  swelled  the  whitening  sail, 
The  blue  waves  curl  beneath  the  gale, 
And,  bounding  with  the  wave  and  wind, 
We  leave  old  England's  shores  behind  : — 

Leave  behind  our  native  shore, 
Homes,  and  all  we  loved  before. 

2.  The  deep  may  dash,  the  winds  may  blow, 
The  storm  spread  out  its  wings  of  wo, 
Till  sailors'  eyes  can  see  a  shroud 
Hung  in  the  folds  of  every  cloud ; 

Still,  as  long  as  life  shall  last, 
From  that  shore  we'll  speed  us  fast 

3.  For  we  would  rather  never  be, 

Than  dwell  where  mind  cannot  be  free ; 


cobb's  sequel.  67 

But  bows  beneath  a  despot's  rod, 
Even  where  it  seeks  to  worship  God. 

Blasts  of  heaven  onward  sweep ! 

Bear  us  o'er  the  troubled  deep ! 

4.  Oh,  see  what  wonders  meet  our  eyes ! 
Another  land,  and  other  skies  ! 
Columbian  hills  have  met  our  view  ! 
Adieu ! — Old  England's  shores,  adieu  ! 

Here,  at  length,  our  feet  shall  rest, 
Hearts  be  free,  and  homes  be  blest. 

5.  As  long  as  yonder  lirs  shall  spread 

Their  green  arms  o'er  the  mountain's  head ; 

As  long  as  yonder  cliffs  shall  stand, 

Where  join  the  ocean  and  the  land ; 
Shall  those  cliffs  and  mountains  be 
Proud  retreats  for  liberty. — Upham. 


LESSON  XLIV. 

Visit  to  the  Falls  of  Missouri. 

1.  As  Captains  Lewis  and  Clark  approached  the  mountains, 
and  had  got  considerably  beyond  the  walls  already  described, 
at  the  meridian  of  nearly  110°,  and  the  parallel  of  about  47° 
30',  the  same  almost  as  that  of  the  station  of  the  Mandans, 
there  was  a  bifurcation  of  the  river,  which  threw  them  into 
considerable  doubt  as  to  which  was  the  true  Missouri,  and  the 
course  which  it  behooved  them  to  pursue.  The  northernmost 
possessed  most  strongly  the  characters  of  that  river,  and  the 
men  seemed  all  to  entertain  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  stream 
which  they  ought  to  follow. 

2.  The  commanders  of  the  expedition,  however,  did  not 
decide  till  after  they  had  reconnoitred  the  country  from  the 
higher  grounds,  and  then  determined  to  follow  the  southern 
branch.  On  the  eleventh  of  June,  1806,  Captain  Lewis  set 
out  on  foot  with  four  men,  in  order  to  explore  this  river. 
They  proceeded  till  the  13th,  when,  finding  that  the  river  bore 
considerably  to  the  south,  fearing  that  they  were  in  an  errour, 
they  changed  their  course  and  proceeded  across  the  plain. 

3.  In  this  direction  Captain  Lewis  had  gone  about  two  miles, 
when  his  ears  were  saluted  with  the  agreeable  sound  of  a  fall 


68  cobb's  sequel. 

of  water ;  and  as  he  advanced,  a  spray,  which  seemed  driven 
by  the  high  southwest  wind,  rose  above  the  plain  like  a  column 
of  smoke,  and  vanished  in  an  instant.  Toward  this  point  he 
directed  his  steps ;  and  the  noise,  increasing  as  he  approached, 
soon  became  too  tremendous  to  be  mistaken  for  any  thing  but 
the  great  falls  of  the  Missouri. 

4.  Having  travelled  seven  miles  after  hearing  the  sound,  he 
reached  the  falls  about  12  o'clock.  The  hills,  as  he  approached, 
were  difficult  of  access,  and  about  two  hundred  feet  high. 
Down  these  he  hurried  with  impatience ;  and  seating  himself 
on  some  rocks  under  the  centre  of  the  falls,  he  enjoyed  the 
sublime  spectacle  of  this  stupendous  cataract,  which,  since  the 
creation,  had  been  lavishing  its  magnificence  on  the  desert. 

5.  These  falls  extend,  in  all,  over  a  distance  of  nearly  twelve 
miles ;  and  the  medium  breadth  of  the  river  varies  from  three 
to  six  hundred  yards.  The  principal  fall  is  near  the  lower 
extremity,  and  is  upwards  of  eighty  feet  perpendicular.  The 
river  is  here  nearly  three  hundred  yards  wide,  with  perpen- 
dicular cliffs  on  each  side,  not  less  than  one  hundred  feet  high. 
For  ninety  or  one  hundred  yards  from  the  left  cliff,  the  water 
falls  in  one  smooth,  even  sheet,  over  a  precipice  at  least  eighty 
feet  high* 

6.  The  remaining  part  of  the  river  precipitates  itself  also 
With  great  rapidity ;  but  being  received,  as  it  falls,  by  irregular 
and  projecting  rocks,  forms  a  splendid  prospect  of  white  foam, 
two  hundred  yards  in  length,  and  eighty  in  perpendicular 
elevation. 

7.  The  spray  is  dissipated  in  a  thousand  shapes,  flying  up  in 
high  columns,  and  collecting  into  large  masses,  which  the  sun 
adorns  with  all  the  colouring  of  the  rainbow.  The  fall,  just 
described,  must  be  one  of  the  most  magnificent  and  picturesque 
that  is  any  where  to  be  found. 

8.  It  has  often  been  disputed,  whether  a  cataract,  in  which 
the  water  falls  in  one  sheet,  or  one  where  it  is  dashed  irregu- 
larly among  the  rocks,  is  the  finer  object.  It  was  reserved  for 
the  Missouri  to  resolve  this  doubt,  by  exhibiting  both  at  once 
in  the  greatest  magnificence. 

9.  There  is  another  cascade,  of  about  forty-seven  feet,  higher 
up  the  river,  and  the  last  of  all  is  twenty-six  feet ;  but  the  suc- 
cession of  inferiour  falls,  and  of  rapids  of  very  great  declivity, 
is  astonishingly  great;  so  that,  from  the  first  to  the  last,  the  whole 
descent  of  the  river  is  three  hundred  and  eighty-four  feet. 
"  Just  below  the  falls,"  says  Captain  Lewis,  "  is  a  little  island 
in  the  river  well  covered  with  timber.  Here,  on  a  cotton-wood 
tree,  an  eagle  had  fixed  its  nest,  and  seemed  the  undisputed 


COBB  S  SEQUEL.  69 

mistress  of  a  spot,  to  invade  which  neither  man  nor  beast  could 
venture  across  the  gulf  that  surrounds  it ;  while  it  is  farther 
secured  by  the  mist  that  rises  from  the  falls. 

10.  Tins  solitary  bird  has  not  escaped  the  observation  of 
the  Indians,  who  made  the  eagle's  nest  a  part  of  their  descrip- 
tion of  the  falls  which  they  gave  us,  and  which  proves  now  to 
be  correct  in  almost  every  particular,  except  that  they  did  not 
do  justice  to  their  height." 

1 1.  The  river  above  the  falls  is  quite  unruffled  and  smooth, 
with  numerous  herds  of  buffaloes  feeding  on  the  plains  around 
it.  These  plains  open  out  on  both  sides,  so  that  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  they  mark  the  bottom  of  an  ancient  lake,  the 
outlet  of  which  the  river  is  still  in  the  act  of  cutting  down,  and 
will  require  many  ages  to  accomplish  its  work,  or  to  reduce 
the  w]4ole  to  a  moderate  and  uniform  declivity.  The  eagle 
may  then  be  dispossessed  of  its  ancient  and  solitary  domain. 

Edinburgh  Keview. 


LESSON  XLV. 
Description  of  the  Natural  Bridge  in  Virginia. 

1.  The  Natural  Bridge,  the  most  sublime  of  nature's  works, 
is  on  the  ascent  of  a  hill,  which  seems  to  have  been  cloven 
through  its  length  by  some  great  convulsion.  The  fissure, 
just  at  the  bridge,  is,  by  some  admeasurements,  two  hundred 
and  seventy  feet  deep,  by  others  only  two  hundred  and  five. 
It  is  about  forty-five  feet  wide  at  the  bottom,  and  ninety  feet  at 
the  top;  this,  of  course,  determines  the  length  of  the  bridge, 
and  its  height  from  the  water ;  its  breadth  in  the  middle  is 
about  sixty  feet,  but  more  at  the  ends,  and  the  thickness  of  the 
mass,  at  the  summit  of  the  arch,  about  forty  feet.  A  part 
of  this  thickness  is  constituted  by  a  coat  of  earth,  which 
gives  growth  to  many  large  trees.  The  residue,  with  the 
hill  on  both  sides,  is  one  solid  rock  of  limestone. 

2.  The  arch  approaches  the  semi-elliptical  form ;  but  the 
larger  axis  of  the  ellipses,  which  would  be  the  chord  of  the 
arch,  is  many  times  longer  than  the  transverse.  Though  the 
sides  of  the  bridge  are  provided,  in  some  parts,  with  a  par- 
apet of  fixed  rocks,  yet  few  men  have  resolution  to  walk 
to  them,  and  look  over  into  the  abyss.  You  involuntarily 
fall  on  your  hands  and  feet,  creep  to  the  parapet,  and  peep 
over  it.  Looking  down  from  this  height  about  a  minute, 
gave  me  a  violent  headache. 


90  cobb's  SEQUEL. 

3.  If  the  view  from  the  top  be  painful  and  intolerable,  that 
from  below  is  delightful  in  an  equal  extreme.  It  is  impossible 
for  the  emotions  arising  from  the  sublime  to  be  felt  beyond 
what  they  are  here :  so  beautiful  an  arch,  so  elevated,  so  light, 
and  springing,  as  it  were,  up  to  heaven,  the  rapture  of  the  spec- 
tator is  really  indescribable  !  The  fissure,  continuing  narrow, 
deep,  and  straight,  for  a  considerable  distance  above  and  below 
the  bridge,  opens  a  short  but  very  pleasing  view  of  the  North 
Mountain  on  one  side,  and  Blue  Ridge  on  the  other,  at  the 
distance,  each  of  them,  of  about  five  miles. 

4.  This  bridge  is  in  the  county  of  Rockbridge,  to  which  it 
has  given  name,  and  affords  a  publick  and  commodious  passage 
over  a  valley,  which  cannot  be  crossed  elsewhere  for  a  con- 
siderable distance.  The  stream  passing  under  it  is  called 
Cedar  cre^ek.  It  is  a  water  of  James's  river,  and  sufficient,  in 
the  driest  seasons,  to  turn  a  grist-mill,  though  its  fountain  is 
not  more  than  two  miles  above. — Jefferson. 


LESSON  XLVI. 
Change  of  External  Condition  is  often  Adverse  to  Virtue. 

1.  In  the  days  of  Joram,  king  of  Israel,  flourished  the  prophet 
Elisha.  His  character  was  so  eminent,  and  his  fame  so  widely 
spread,  that  Benhadad,  the  king  of  Syria,  though  an  idolater, 
sent  to  consult  him,  concerning  the  issue  of  a  distemper  which 
threatened  his  life.  The  messenger  employed  on  this  occa- 
sion was  Hazael,  who  appears  to  have  been  one  of  the  princes, 
or  chief  men  of  the  Syrian  court. 

2.  Charged  with  rich  gifts  from  the  king,  he  presents  himself 
before  the  prophet,  and  accosts  him  in  terms  of  the  highest 
respect.  During  the  conference  which  they  held  together, 
Elisha  fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly  on  the  countenance  of  Hazael ; 
and  discerning,  by  a  prophetick  spirit,  his  future  tyranny  and 
cruelty,  he  could  not  contain  himself  from  bursting  into  a  flood 
of  tears. 

3.  When  Hazael,  in  surprise,  inquired  into  the  cause  of  this 
sudden  emotion,  the  prophet  plainly  informed  him  of  the  crimes 
and  barbarities,  which  he  foresaw  that  he  would  afterward 
commit.  The  soul  of  Hazael  abhorred,  at  this  time,  the 
thoughts  of  cruelty.  Uncorrupted,  as  yet,  by  ambition  or 
greatness,  his  indignation  rose  at  being  thought  capable  of  the 
savage  actions  which  the  prophet  had  mentioned ;  and,  with 


cobb's  sequel.  71 

much  warmth,  he  replies :  "But  what? — is  thy  servant  a  dog, 
that  he  should  do  this  great  thing  ?" 

4.  Elisha  makes  no  return,  but  to  point  out  a  remarkable 
change,  which  was  to  take  place  in  his  condition ; — "  The  Lord 
hath  shown  me,  that  thou  shalt  be  king  over  Syria."  In  course 
of  time,  all  that  had  been  predicted  came  to  pass.  Hazael 
ascended  the  throne,  and  ambition  took  possession  of  his  heart. 
M  He  smote  the  children  of  Israel  in  all  their  coasts.  He  op- 
pressed them  during  all  the  days  of  king  Jehoahaz :"  and,  from 
what  is  left  on  record  of  his  actions,  he  plainly  appears  to  have 
proved,  what  the  prophet  foresaw  him  to  be,  a  man  of  violence, 
cruelty,  and  blood. 

5.  In  this  passage  of  history,  an  object  is  presented,  which 
deserves  our  serious  attention.  We  behold  a  man,  who,  in 
one  state  of  life,  could  not  look  upon  certain  crimes  without 
surprise  and  horrour ;  who  knew  so  little  of  himself,  as  to  be- 
lieve it  impossible  for  him  ever  to  be  concerned  in  committing 
them ;  that  same  man,  by  a  change  of  condition,  and  an  un- 
guarded state  of  mind,  transformed  in  all  his  sentiments ;  and 
as  he  rose  in  greatness,  rising  also  in  guilt ;  till  at  last  he  com- 
pleted that  whole  character  of  iniquity,  which  he  once  detested, 

Blair, 


LESSON  XLVII. 
The  Trials  of  Virtue. 

1.  Placed  on  the  verge  of  youth,  my  mind 

Life's  opening  scene  surveyed : 
I  viewed  its  ills  of  various  kind, 
Afflicted  and  afraid. 

2.  But  chief  my  fear  the  dangers  moved, 

That  virtue's  path  enclose : 
My  heart  the  wise  pursuit  approved ; 
But,  oh,  what  toils  oppose ! 

3.  For  see,  ah,  see !  while  yet  her  ways 

With  doubtful  step  I  tread, 
A  hostile  world  its  terrours  raise, 
Its  snares  delusive  spread. 

4.  O  how  shall  I,  with  heart  prepared, 

Those  terrours  learn  to  meet? 


72  cobb's  sequel. 

How  from  the  thousand  snares  to  guard 
My  inexperienced  feet  ? 

5.  As  thus  I  mused,  oppressive  sleep 

Soft  o'er  my  temples  drew 
Oblivion's  veil.     The  watery  deep, 
An  object  strange  and  new, 

6.  Before  me  rose :  on  the  wide  shore 

Observant  as  I  stood, 
The  gathering  storms  around  me  roar, 
And  heave  the  boiling  flood. 

7.  Near  and  more  near  the  billows  rise ; 

Even  now  my  steps  they  lave ; 
And  death  to  my  affrighted  eyes 
Approached  in  every  wave. 

8.  What  hope,  or  whither  to  retreat ! 

Each  nerve  at  once  unstrung ; 
Chill  fear  had  fettered  fast  my  feet, 
And  chained  my  speechless  tongue. 

9.  I  felt  my  heart  within  me  die  ; 

When,  sudden  to  mine  ear, 
A  voice,  descending  from  on  high, 
Reproved  my  erring  fear. 

10.  "  What  tho'  the  swelling  surge  thou  see 

Impatient  to  devour ; 
Rest,  mortal,  rest  on  God's  decree, 
And  thankful  own  his  power. 

11.  Know,  when  he  bade  the  deep  appear, 

'  Thus  far,'  the  Almighty  said, 
4  Thus  far,  no  farther,  rage ;  and  here 
Let  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed.' " 

12.  I  heard  ;  and  lo  !  at  once  controlled, 

The  waves,  in  wild  retreat, 
Back  on  themselves  reluctant  rolled, 
And  murmuring  left  my  feet. 

13.  Deeps  to  assembling  deeps  in  vain 

Once  more  the  signal  gave : 


COBB'S   SEGJQEX.  73 

The  shores  the  rushing  weight  sustain, 
And  check  the  usurping  wave, 

14.  Convinced,  in  nature's  volume  wise, 

The  imaged  truth  I  read ; 
And  sudd'en  from  my  waking  eyes 
The  instructive  vision  fled. 

15.  Then  why  thus  heavy,  O  my  soul! 

Sayy  why  distrustful  still ; 
Thy  thoughts  with  vain  impatience  roll 
O'er  scenes  of  future  ill  ? 

16.  Let  faith  suppress  each  rising  fear. 

Each  anxious  doubt  exclude  : 
Thy  Maker's  will  has  place4  thee  here, 
A  Maker  wise  and  good ! 

J7.  He  to  thy  every  trial  knows 
Its  just  restraint  to  give ; 
Attentive  to  behold  thy  woes, 
And  faithful  to  relieve. 

18.  Then  why  thus  heavy,  O  my  soul ! 
Say,  why  distrustful  still ; 
Thy  thoughts  with  vain  impatience  roll 
O'er  scenes  of  future  ill } 

J 9.  Tho'  griefs  unnumbered  throng  thee  round, 
Still  in  thy  God  confide, 
Whose  finger  marks  the  seas  their  bound, 
And  curbs  the  headlong  tide, — Merrjck, 


LESSON  XLVIII. 

Travelling  over  the  Andes. 

1.  Among  the  rugged  and  unfrequented  paths  of  the  Cor* 
dillerasj  various  dangers  and  fatigues  beset  the  traveller.  The 
ruggedness  of  the  roads  can  hardly  be  described.  In  many 
places  the  ground  is  so  narrow,  that  the  mules  have  scarcely 
room  to  set  their  feet,  and  in  others  it  is  a  continued  series  of 
precipices. 


74  COBB'ri    S  Eli  EEL. 

2.  These  paths  are  full  of  holes  from  two  to  three  feet  deep, 
in  which  the  mules  set  their  feet,  and  draw  their  bellies  and 
the  rider's  legs  along  the  ground.  These  holes  serve  as  steps, 
without  which  the  precipices  would,  in  a  great  measure,  be 
impassable  ;  but  should  the  creature  happen  to  set  his  foot 
between  two  of  these  holes,  or  not  place  it  right,  the  rider  falls ; 
and  if  on  the  side  of  the  precipice,  he  inevitably  perishes. 

3.  This  danger  is  even  greater  in  descending  precipices 
where  those  holes  are  wanting;  but  the  instinct  of  the  mules, 
that  are  accustomed  to  pass  them,  is  admirable.  They  are 
sensible  of  the  caution  requisite  in  the  descent. 

4.  On  coming  to  the  top  of  an  eminence  they  stop,  and 
having  placed  their  fore  feet  close  together,  as  in  a  posture  of 
stopping  themselves,  they  also  put  their  hind  feet  together,  but 
a  little  forward,  as  if  going  to  lie  down. 

5.  In  this  attitude,  having,  as  it  were,  taken  a  survey  of  the 
road,  they  slide  down  with  the  swiftness  of  a  meteor.  All  the 
rider  has  to  do,  is  to  keep  himself  fast  in  the  saddle,  without 
checking  his  beast,  for  the  least  motion  is  sufficient  to  destroy 
the  equilibrium  of  the  mule ;  in  which  case  they  must  both 
unavoidably  be  precipitated  to  destruction. 

6.  In  many  parts  of  the  passes  of  the  Andes,  the  mode  of  trav- 
elling is  upon  men's  backs.  The  traveller  sits  in  a  chair,  tied  to 
the  back  of  the  carrier.  The  number  of  men  who  undertake 
the  employment  of  beasts  of  burden,  is  considerable.  The 
roads,  over  which  they  travel,  lie  through  desolate  forests%  which 
cannot  be  traversed  in  less  than  ten  or  twelve  days,  and  where 
there  is  not  a  hut  to  be  seen,  nor  any  subsistence  to  be  procured. 

7.  Pendulous  bridges  are  thrown  over  the  frightful  crevices 
of  immeasurable  depth,  which  are  found  in  the  flanks  of  the 
Andes.  Over  these  frail  and  tremulous  passages,  the  fearless 
natives  carry  the  traveller  in  a  chair  attached  to  their  backs, 
and,  bending  forward  the  body,  they  move  with  a  swift  and 
equal  step ;  but,  when  they  reach  the  centre,  the  oscillation  of 
the  bridge  is  so  great,  that,  were  they  to  stop,  inevitable  de- 
struction must  ensue :  the  native  and  his  burden  would  be 
dashed  to  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  to  whose  profound  depth 
the  eye  can  scarcely  reach. 

8.  These  bridges  are,  from  the  nature  of  their  construction, 
frequently  out  of  repair ;  presenting  to  the  shuddering  European, 
who  visits  these  countries,  frightful  chasms,  over  which  the  In- 
dians step  with  undaunted  confidence.  In  the  winter,  travel- 
lers are  in  danger  of  being  frozen  to  death,  in  endeavouring 
to  pass  these  mountains  before  the  winter  snows  are  melted, 
and  many  lose  their  lives  in  the  attempt. — Worcester's  Sh 


cobb's  sequel.  75 

LESSON  XLIX. 
On  Discretion. 

1.  I  have  often  thought,  if  the  minds  of  men  were  laid  open, 
we  should  see  but  little  difference  between  that  of  a  wise  man, 
and  that  of  a  fool.  There  are  infinite  reveries,  numberless  ex- 
travagances, and  a  succession  of  vanities,  which  pass  through 
both.  The  great  difference  is,  that  the  first  knows  how  to  pick 
and  cull  his  thoughts  for  conversation,  by  suppressing  some, 
and  communicating  others ;  whereas  the  other  lets  them  all 
indifferently  fly  out  in  words.  This  sort  of  discretion,  how- 
ever, has  no  place  in  private  conversation  between  intimate 
friends.  On  such  occasions,  the  wisest  men  very  often  talk 
like  the  weakest ;  for,  indeed,  talking  with  a  friend  is  nothing 
else  than  thinking'  aloud. 

2.  Tully  has,  therefore,  very  justly  exposed  a  precept,  de- 
livered by  some  ancient  writers,  that  a  man  should  live  with 
his  enemy  in  such  a  manner,  as  might  leave  him  room  to  be- 
come his  friend ;  and  with  his  friend,  in  such  a  manner,  that, 
if  he  became  his  enemy,  it  should  not  be  in  his  power  to  hurt 
him.  The  first  part  of  this  rule,  which  regards  our  behaviour 
toward  an  enemy,  is,  indeed,  very  reasonable,  as  well  as  very 
prucfential ;  but  the  latter  part  of  it,  which  regards  our  behaviour 
toward  a  friend,  savours  more  of  cunning  than  of  discretion ; 
and  would  cut  a  man  off  from  the  greatest  pleasures  of  life, 
which  are  the  freedoms  of  conversation  with  a  bosom  friend. 
Beside  that,  when  a  friend  is  turned  into  an  enemy,  the  world 
is  just  enough  to  accuse  the  perfidiousness  of  the  friend,  rather 
than  the  indiscretion  of  the  person  who  confided  in  him. 

3.  Discretion  does  not  only  show  itself  in  words,  but  in  all 
the  circumstances  of  action ;  and  is  like  an  under-agent  of* 
Providence,  to  guide  and  direct  us  in  the  ordinary  concerns 
of  life.  There  are  many  more  shining  qualities  in  the  mind 
of  man,  but  there  is  none  so  useful  as  discretion.  It  is  this, 
indeed,  which  gives  a  value  to  all  the  rest ;  which  sets  them 
at  work  in  their  proper  times  and  places ;  and  turns  them  to 
the  advantage  of  the  person  who  is  possessed  of  them.  With- 
out it,  learning  is  pedantry,  and  wit  impertinence ;  virtue 
itself  looks  like  weakness ;  the  best  parts  only  qualify  a  man 
to  be  more  sprightly  in  errours,  and  active  to  his  own  prejudice. 

4.  Discretion  does  not  only  make  a  man  the  master  of  his 
own  parts,  but  of  other  men's.     The  discreet  man  finds  out  the 


76  COBBY  SEQUEL. 

talents  of  those  with  whom  he  converses,  and  knows  how  to  ap* 
ply  them  to  propef  uses.  Accordingly,  if  we  look  into  particular 
communities  and  divisions  of  men,  we  may  observe,  that  it  is 
the  discreet  man,  not  the  witty,  nor  the  learned,  nor  the  brave, 
who  guides  the  Conversation*  and  gives  measures  to  society* 
A  mail  With  great  talents,  but  void  of  discretion*  is  like  Poly- 
phemus in  the  fable,  strong  and  blind ;  endued  with  an  irre- 
sistible force*  which,  for*  want  of  sight,  is  of  no  use  to  him. 

5*  Though  a  man  has  all  other  perfections,  yet  if  he  wants 
discretion*  he  will  be  of  no  great  consequence  in  the  world ; 
On  the  Contrary,  if  he  has  this  single  talent  in  perfection,  and 
but  a  Common  share  of  others,  he  may  do  what  he  pleases  irt 
his  particular  station  of  life. 

6.  At  the  same  time  that  I  think  discretion  the  most  useful 
talent  a  man  can  be  master  of,  I  look  upon  cunning  to  be  the 
accomplishment  of  little,  mean,  ungenerous  minds.  Discre- 
tion points  out  the  noblest  ends  to  us ;  and  pursues  the  most 
proper  and  laudable  methods  of  attaining  them :  cunning  has 
only  private,  selfish  aims ;  and  sticks  at  nothing  which  may 
make  them  succeed. 

t.  Discretion  has  large  and  extended  views ;  and,  like  a 
well  formed  eye,  commands  a  whole  horizon :  cunning  is  a 
kind  of  short-sightedness,  that  discovers  the  minutest  objects 
Which  are  near  at  hand,  but  it  is  not  able  to  discern  things  at  a 
distance;  Discretion,  the  more  it  is  discovered,  gives  a  greater 
authority  to  the  person  who  possesses  it :  cunning,  when:  it  is 
once  detected,  loses  its  force,  and  makes  a  man  incapable  of 
bringing  about  even  those  events  which  he  might  have  done 
had  he  passed  only  for  a  plain  man. 

8.  Discretion  is  the  perfection  of  reason ;  and  a  guide  to  us 
in  all  the  duties  of*  life  :  cunning  is  a  kind  of  instinct,  that  only 
looks  out  after  our  immediate  interest  and  welfare.  Discretion 
is  only  found  in  men  of  strong  sense  and  good  understanding : 
cunning  is  often  to  be  met  with  in  brutes  themselves ;  and  in 
persons  who  are  but  the  fewest  removes  from  them.  In  short* 
cunliing  is  only  the  mimick  of  discretion ;  and  it  may  pass  Upon 
weak  men*  in  the  same  manner  as  vivacity  is  often  mistaken 
for  wit*  and  gravity  for  Wisdom. 

9.  The  cast  of  mind  which  is  natural  to  a  discreet  man,  makes 
him  look  forward  into  futurity,  and  consider  wliat  will  be  his 
condition  millions  of  ages  hence,  as  well  as  what  it  is  at  present. 
He  knows  that  the  misery  or  happiness  which  is  reserved  for 
him  in  another  world,  loses  nothing  of  its  reality  by  being 
placed  at  so  great  a  distance  from  him.  The  objects  do  not 
appear  little  to  him  because  they  are  remote.    He  considers  that 


cobb's  sequel.  77 

those  pleasures  and  pains  which  lie  hid  in  eternity,  approach 
nearer  to  him  every  moment ;  and  will  be  present  with  him  in 
their  full  weight  and  measure,  as  much  as  those  pains  and 
pleasures  which  he  feels  at  this  very  instant.  For  this  reason 
he  is  careful  to  secure  to  himself  that  which  is  the  proper  hap- 
piness of  his  nature,  and  the  ultimate  design  of  his  being. 

10.  He  carries  his  thoughts  to  the  end  of  every  action ;  and 
considers  the  most  distant,  as  well  as  the  most  immediate  effects 
of  it.  He  supersedes  every  little  prospect  of  gain  and  advan- 
tage which  offers  itself  here,  if  he  does  not  find  it  consistent 
with  his  views  of  an  hereafter.  In  a  word,  his  hopes  are  full 
of  immortality ;  his  schemes  are  large  and  glorious ;  and  his 
conduct  suitable  to  one  who  knows  his  true  interest,  and  how 
to  pursue  it  by  proper  methods. — Addison. 


LESSON  L. 
On  the  Government  of  our  Thoughts. 

1.  A  multitude  of  cases  occur,  in  which  we  are  no  less 
accountable  for  what  we  think,  than  for  what  we  do.  As,  first, 
when  the  introduction  of  any  train  of  thoughts  depends  upon 
ourselves,  and  is  our  voluntary  act,  by  turning  our  attention 
towards  such  objects,  awakening  such  passions,  or  engaging 
in  such  employments,  as  we  know  must  give  a  peculiar  deter- 
mination to  our  thoughts.  Next,  when  thoughts,  by  whatever 
accident  they  may  have  been  originally  suggested,  are  indulged 
with  deliberation  and  complacency. 

2.  Though  the  mind  has  been  passive  in  their  reception,  and, 
therefore,  free  from  blame ;  yet,  if  it  be  active  in  their  con- 
tinuance, the  guilt  becomes  its  own.  They  may  have  intruded 
at  first,  like  unbidden  guests ;  but  if,  when  entered,  they  are 
made  welcome,  and  kindly  entertained,  the  case  is  the  same 
as  if  they  had  been  invited  from  the  beginning. 

3.  If  we  are  thus  accountable  to  God  for  thoughts,  either 
voluntarily  introduced,  or  deliberately  indulged,  we  are  no  less 
so  in  the  last  place,  for  those  which  find  admittance  into  our 
hearts  from  supine  negligence,  from  total  relaxation  of  atten- 
tion, from  allowing  our  imagination  to  rove  with  entire  license, 
44  like  the  eyes  of  the  fool  towards  the  end  of  the  earth." 

4.  Our  minds  are,  in  this  case,  thrown  open  to  folly  and 
vanity.  They  are  prostituted  to  every  evil  thing  which  pleases 
to  take  possession.     The  consequences  must  all  be  charged  to 


'SS  cobb's  sequel. 

bur  account;  and  in  vain  we  plead  excuse  from  human  iri- 
firmity.  Hence  it  appears,  that  the  great  object  at  which  we 
are  to  aim  in  governing  our  thoughts,  is  to  take  the  most 
effectual  measures  for  preventing  the  introduction  of  such  as 
are  sinful  \  and  for  hastening  their  expulsion  if  they  shall  hftve 
introduced  themselves  without  consent  of  the  will; 

5;  But  when  we  descend  into  our  breasts*  and  examine  how 
far  we  have  studied  to  keep  this  object  in  view*  who  can  tell 
u  how  bft  he  hath  offended  ?"  In  no  article  of  religion  or 
morals*  are  men  more  culpably  remiss  than  in  the  unrestrained 
indulgence  they  give  to  fancy ;  and  that  too,  for  the  most  part, 
without  remorse.  Since  the  time  that  reason  began  to  exert 
her  powers,  thought,  during  our  waking  hours,  has  been  active 
in  every  breast,  without  a  moment's  suspension  or  pause. 

6.  The  current  of  ideas  has  been  always  flowing.  The 
wheels  of  the  spiritual  engine  have  circulated  with  perpetual 
motion*  Let  me  ask,  what  has  been  the  fruit  of  this  incessant 
activity  with  the  greater  part  of  mankind  ?  Of  the  innumerably 
hours  that  have  been  employed  in  thought,  how  few  are  marked 
with  any  permanent  or  useful  effect  ?  How  many  have  either 
passed  away  in  idle  dreams,  or  have  been  abandoned  to  anxious* 
discontented  musings,  to  Unsocial  and  malignant  passions,  oi* 
to  irregular  and  criminal  desires  ? 

ft  Had  I  power  to  lay  open  that  storehouse  of  iniquity  which 
the  hearts  of  too  many  conceal ;  could  I  draw  out  and  read  to 
them  a  list  of  all  the  imaginations  they  have  devised*  and  all 
the  passions  they  have  indulged  in  secret ;  what  a  picture  of 
men  should  I  present  to  themselves !  What  crimes  would 
they  appear  to  have  perpetrated  in  secrecy,  which  to  theit 
most  intimate  companions  they  durst  not  reveal ! 

&.  Even  when  men  imagine  their  thoughts  to  be  innocently 
employed*  they  too  commonly  suffer  them  to  run  out  into 
extravagant  imaginations*  and  chimerical  plans  of  what  they 
would  wish  to  attain,  or  choose  to  be,  if  they  could  frame  the 
fcourse  of  things  according  to  their  desire.  Though  such  em- 
ployments of  fancy  come  not  under  the  same  description  with 
those  which  are  plainly  criminal,  yet  wholly  unblameable  they 
Seldom  are.  Besides  the  waste  of  time  which  they  occasion* 
and  the  misapplication  which  they  indicate  of  those  intellectual 
powers  that  were  given  to  us  for  much  nobler  purposes,  such 
romantick  speculations  always  lead  us  into  the  neighbourhood 
of  forbidden  regionsi 

9.  They  place  us  on  dangerous  ground.  They  are*  for  the 
most  part*  connected  with  some  one  bad  passion;  and  they 
fclways  nourish  a  giddy  and  frivolous  turn  of  thought*    They 


unfit  the  mind  for  applying  with  vigour  to  rational  pursuits,  or 
for  acquiescing  in  sober  plans  of  conduct.  From  that  ideal 
world  in  which  it  allows  itself  to  dwell,  it  returns  to  the  com- 
merce of  mety  unbent  and  relaxed,  sickly  and  tainted,  averse 
to  discharging  the  duties,  and  sometimes  disqualified  even  for 
relishing  the  pleasures  of  ordinary  life. — Blair. 


LESSON  Lt. 
Defence  of  Literary  Studies  in  Men  of  Business. 

1.  Among  the  cautions  which  prudence  and  worldly  wisdom 
inculcate  on  the  young,  or  at  least  among  those  sober  truths 
which  experience  often  pretends  to  have  acquired*  is  that  dan- 
ger which  is  said  to:  result  from  the  pursuit  of  letters  and  of 
science,  in  men  destined  for  the  labours  of  business,  or  for  the 
active  exertions  of  professional  life. 

2.  The  abstraction  of  learning,  the  speculations  of  science, 
and  the  visionary  excursions  of  fancy,  are  fatal,  it  is  said,  to 
the  steady  pursuit  of  common  objects,  to  the  habits  of  plodding 
industry,  which  ordinary  business  demands. 

3.  The  fineness  of  mind*  which  is  created  or  increased  by  the 
Study  of  letters*  or  the  admiration  of  the  arts,  is  supposed  to 
incapacitate  a  man  for  the  drudgery  by  which  professional  emi- 
nence is  gained  ;  as  a  nicely  tempered  edge,  applied  to  a  Coarse 
and' rugged  material,  is  unable  to  perform  what  a  more  commoii 
instrument  would  have  successfully  achieved. 

4.  A  young  man  destined  for  law  or  commerce,  is  advised 
to  look  only  into  his  folio  of  precedents,  or  his  method  of  book- 
keeping ;  and  dulness  is  pointed  to  his  homage,  as  that  benevo- 
lent goddess,  under  whose  protection  the  honours  of  station 
and  the  blessings  of  opulence  are  to  be  attained ;  while  learning 
and  genius  are  proscribed,  as  leading  their  votaries  to  barren 
indigence  and  merited  neglect. 

5.  In  doubting  the  truth  of  these  assertions,  I  think  I  shall 
hot  entertain  any  hurtful  degree  of  skepticism,  because  the 
general  current  of  opinion  seems,  of  late  years,  to  have  set  too 
Strongly  in  the  contrary  direction ;  and  one  may  endeavour  td 
prop  the  falling  cause  of  literature,  without  being  accused  of 
blameable  or  dangerous  partiality. 

6.  In  the  examples  which  memory  and  experience  produce 
of  idleness,  of  dissipation,  and  of  poverty,  brought  on  by  indul* 
gence  of  literary  or  poetical  enthusiasm,  the  evidence  must 


80  COBB*S    SEQUEL. 

necessarily  be  on  one  side  of  the  question  only.  Of  the  few 
whom  learning  or  genius  has  led  astray,  the  ill  success  or  the 
ruin  is  marked  by  the  celebrity  of  the  sufferer. 

7.  Of  the  many  who  have  been  as  dull  as  they  were  profli- 
gate, and  as  ignorant  as  they  were  poor,  the  fate  is  unknown, 
from  the  insignificance  of  those  by  whom  it  was  endured.  If 
we  may  reason  from  the  cause  to  the  effect  on  the  matter,  the 
chance,  I  think,  should  be  on  the  side  of  literature. 

8.  In  young  minds  of  any  vivacity,  there  is  a  natural  aversion 
to  the  drudgery  of  business,  which  is  seldom  overcome  till  the 
effervescence  of  youth  is  allayed  by  the  progress  of  time  and 
habit,  or  till  that  very  warmth  is  enlisted  on  the  side  of  their 
profession,  by  the  opening  prospects  of  ambition  or  emolument. 

9.  From  this  tyranny,  as  youth  conceives  it,  of  attention 
and  of  labour,  relief  is  commonly  sought  from  some  favourite 
avocation  or  amusement,  for  which  a  young  man  either  finds 
or  steals  a  portion  of  his  time,  either  patiently  plods  through 
his  task,  in  expectation  of  its  approach,  or  anticipates  its  arrival 
by  deserting  his  work  before  the  legal  period  for  amusement 
is  arrived. 

10.  It  may  fairly  be  questioned,  whether  the  most  innocent 
of  those  amusements  is  either  so  honourable  or  so  safe  as  the 
avocation  of  learning  or  of  science.  Of  minds  uninformed  and 
gross,  whom  youthful  spirits  agitate,  but  fancy  and  feeling 
have  no  power  to  impel,  the  amusements  will  generally  be 
either  boisterous  or  effeminate  ;  will  either  dissipate  their  atten- 
tion or  weaken  their  force. 

11.  The  employment  of  a  young  man's  vacant  hours  is  often 
too  little  attended  to  by  those  rigid  masters  who  exact  the  most 
scrupulous  observance  of  the  periods  destined  for  business. 
The  waste  of  time  is  undoubtedly  a  very  calculable  loss ;  but 
the  waste  or  the  depravation  of  mind,  is  a  loss  of  a  much  higher 
denomination. 

12.  The  votary  of  study,  or  the  enthusiast  of  fancy,  may 
incur  the  first ;  but  the  latter  will  be  suffered  chiefly  by  him 
whom  ignorance,  or  want  of  imagination,  has  left  to  the  gross- 
ness  of  mere  sensual  enjoyments. 

13.  In  this,  as  in  other  respects,  the  love  of  letters  is  friendly 
to  sober  manners  and  virtuous  conduct,  which,  in  every  profes- 
sion, is  the  road  to  success  and  to  respect.  Without  adopting 
the  common-place  reflections  against  some  particular  depart- 
ments, it  must  be  allowed  that,  in  mere  men  of  business,  there 
is  a  certain  professional  rule  of  right  which  is  not  always  hon- 
ourable, and,  though  meant  to  be  selfish,  very  seldom  profits. 

14.  A  superiour  education  generally  corrects  this,  by  open- 


ccbb's  sequel.  81 

m£  the  mind  to  different  motives  of  action,  to  the  feelings  ot 
delicacy,  the  sense  of  honour,  and  a  Contempt  of  wealth,  when 
earned  by  a  desertion  of  those  principles. 

15.  To  the  improvement  of  our  faculties,  as  Well  as  of  our 
principles,  the  love  of  letters  appears  to  be  favourable.  Letters 
require  a  certain  sort  of  application,  though  of  a  kind,  perhaps, 
Very  different  from  that  which  business  would  recommend. 

16.  Granting  that  they  are  unprofitable  in  themselves,  as  that 
word  is  used  in  the  language  of  the  world,  yet,  as  developing 
the  powers  of  thought  and  reflection,  they  may  be  an  amuse- 
ment of  some  use,  as  those  sports  of  children  in  Which  numbers 
are  used  to  familiarize  them  to  the  elements  of  arithmetick. 

17.  They  give  room  for  the  exercise  of  that  discernment,  that 
comparison  of  objects,  that  distinction  of  causes,  which  is  to 
increase  the  skill  of  the  physician,  to  guide  the  speculations  of 
the  merchant,  and  to  prompt  the  arguments  of  the  lawyer;  and, 
though  some  professions  employ  but  very  few  faculties  of  the 
mind,  yet  there  is  scarce  any  branch  of  business  in  which  a  man 
who  can  think,  will  not  excel  him  who  can  only  labour. 

18.  We  shall  accordingly  find,  in  many  departments  where 
learned  information  seemed  of  all  qualities  the  least  necessary, 
that  those  who  possessed  it  in  a  degree  above  their  fellows 
have  found*  from  that  very  circumstance)  the  road  to  eminence 
and  wealth. 

19.  But  I  must  often  repeat,  that  wealth  does  not  necessarily 
create  happiness,  nor  confer  dignity ;  a  truth  which  it  may  be! 
thought  declamation  to  insist  on,  but  which  the  present  time 
Seems  particularly  to  require  being  told. 

.20.  The  love  of  letters  is  connected  with  an  independence 
and  delicacy  of  mind*  which  is  a  great  preservative  against  that 
servile  homage  which  abject  men  pay  to  fortune ;  and  there  is 
a  certain  classical  pride,  which,  from  the  society  of  Socrates 
and  Plato,  Cicero  and  Atticus,  looks  down  with  an  honest 
disdain  on  the  wealth-blown  insects  of  modern  times,  neithef 
enlightened  by  knowledge  nor  ennobled  by  virtue. 

21.  In  the  possession,  indeed,  of  what  he  has  attained,  in  that 
rest  and  retirement  from  his  labours,  with  the  hopes  of  which 
his  fatigues  were  lightened  and  his  cares  were  smoothed,  the 
mere  man  of  business  frequently  undergoes  suffering,  instead 
of  finding  enjoyment.  To  be  busy  as  one  ought  is  an  easy 
art ;  but  to  know  how  to  be  idle  is  a  very  superiour  accom- 
plishment. 

22.  This  difficulty  is  much  increased  with  persons  to  whom 
the  habit  of  employment  has  made  some  active  exertion  neces- 
sary ;  who  cannot  sleep  contented  in  the  torpor  of  indolence, 


0»  COBBS    SEQUEL. 

or  amuse  themselves  with  those  lighter  trifles  in  which  he,  who 
inherited  idleness,  as  he  did  fortune,  from  his  ancestors,  has 
been  accustomed  to  find  amusement. 

23.  The  miseries  and  misfortunes  of  the  "  retired  pleasures" 
of  men  of  business,  have  been  frequently  matter  of  speculation 
to  the  moralist,  and  of  ridicule  to  the  wit.  But  he  who  has 
mixed  general  knowledge  with  professional  skill,  and  literary 
amusement  with  professional  labour,  will  have  some  stock 
wherewith  to  support  him  in  idleness,  some  spring  for  his  mind 
when  unbent  from  business,  some  employment  for  those  hours 
which  retirement  or  solitude  has  left  vacant  and  unoccupied. 

24.  Independence  in  the  use  of  one's  time  is  not  the  least 
valuable  species  of  freedom.  This  liberty  the  man  of  letters 
enjoys :  while  the  ignorant  and  the  illiterate  often  retire  from 
the  thraldom  of  business  only  to  become  the  slaves  of  languor, 
intemperance,  or  vice. 

25.  But  the  situation,  in  which  the  advantages  of  that  endow- 
ment of  mind  which  letters  bestow  are  chiefly  conspicuous,  is 
old  age,  when  a  man's  society  is  necessarily  circumscribed,  and 
his  powers  of  active  enjoyment  are  unavoidably  diminished. 

26.  Unfit  for  the  bustle  of  affairs,  and  the  amusements  of  his 
youth,  an  old  man,  if  he  has  no  source  of  mental  exertion  or 
employment,  often  settles  into  the  gloom  of  melancholy  and 
peevishness,  or  petrifies  his  feelings  by  habitual  intoxication. 
From  an  old  man,  whose  gratifications  were  solely  derived 
from  those  sensual  appetites  which  time  has  blunted,  or  from 
those  trivial  amusements  of  which  youth  only  can  share,  age 
has  cut  off  almost  every  source  of  enjoyment. 

27.  But  to  him  who  has  stored  his  mind  with  the  information, 
and  can  still  employ  it  in  the  amusement,  of  letters,  this  blank 
of  life  is  admirably  filled  up.  He  acts,  he  thinks,  and  he  feels 
with  that  literary  world,  whose  society  he  can  at  all  times  enjoy. 

28.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  state  more  capable  of  comfort  to 
ourselves,  or  more  attractive  of  veneration  from  others,  than 
that  which  such  an  old  age  affords ;  it  is  then  the  twilight  of 
the  passions,  when  they  are  mitigated,  but  not  extinguished, 
and  spread  their  gentle  influence  over  the  evening  of  our  day, 
in  alliance  with  reason,  and  in  amity  with  virtue. — Mackenzie 


COBb's    SEQUEL.  '       83 

LESSON  LII. 

Force  of  Talents. 

1 .  Talents,  whenever  they  have  had  a  suitable  theatre,  have 
never  failed  to  emerge  from  obscurity,  and  assume  their  proper 
rank  in  the  estimation  of  the  world.  The  jealous  pride  of 
power  may  attempt  to  repress  and  crush  them ;  the  base  and 
malignant  rancour  of  impotent  spleen  and  envy  may  strive  to 
embarrass  and  retard  their  flight :  but  these  efforts,  so  far  from 
achieving  their  ignoble  purpose ;  so  far  from  producing  a  dis- 
cernible obliquity  in  the  ascent  of  genuine  and  vigorous  talents, 
will  serve  only  to  increase  their  momentum,  and  mark  their 
transit  with  an  additional  stream  of  glory. 

2.  When  the  great  Earl  of  Chatham  first  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  began  to  astonish  and 
transport  the  British  Parliament  and  the  British  natidh,  by  the 
boldness,  the  force,  and  range  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  celestial 
fire  and  pathos  of  his  eloquence,  it  is  well  known,  that  the 
minister,  Walpole,  and  his  brother,  Horace,  (from  motives  very 
easily  understood,)  exerted  all  their  wit,  all  their  oratory,  all 
their  acquirements  of  every  description,  sustained  and  enforced 
by  the  unfeeling  "  insolence  of  office,"  to  heave  a  mountain  on 
his  gigantick  genius,  and  hide  it  from  the  world. 

3.  Poor  and  powerless  attempt ! — The  tables  were  turned. 
He  rose  upon  them,  in  the  might  and  irresistible  energy  of 
his  genius,  and  in  spite  of  all  their  convulsions,  frantick  agonies 
and  spasms,  he  strangled  them  and  their  whole  faction,  with 
as  much  ease  as  Hercules  did  the  serpent,  Python. 

4.  Who  can  turn  over  the  debates  of  the  day,  and  read  the 
account  of  this  conflict  between  youthful  ardour  and  hoary 
headed  cunning  and  power,  without  kindling  in  the  cause  of 
the  tyro,  and  snouting  at  his  victory  ?  That  they  should  have 
attempted  to  pass  ofl' the  grand,  yet  solid,  and  judicious  opera- 
tions of  a  mind  like  his,  as  being  mere  theatrical  start  and  emo- 
tion ;  the  giddy,  hair-brained  eccentricities  of  a  romantick  boy  ! 

5.  That  they  should  have  had  the  presumption  to  suppose 
themselves  capable  of  chaining  down  to  the  floor  of  the  Par- 
liament, a  genius  so  ethereal,  towering,  and  sublime,  seems 
unaccountable  !  Why  did  they  not,  in  the  next  breath,  by  wav 
of  crowning  the  climax  of  vanity,  bid  the  magnificent  fireball 
to  descend  from  its  exalted  and  appropriate  region,  and  perform 
its  splendid  tour  along  the  surface  of  the  earth  ? 


81  cobb's  sequel. 

6.  Talents,  which  are  before  the  publick,  have  nothing  to 
dread,  either  from  the  jealous  pride  of  power,  or  from  the 
transient  misrepresentations  of  party,  spleen,  or  envy.  In  spite 
of  opposition  from  any  cause,  their  buoyant  spirit  will  lift  them 
to  their  proper  grade. 

7.  The  man  who  comes  fairly  before  the  world,  and  who 
possesses  the  great  and  vigorous  stamina  which  entitle  him  to 
a  niche  in  the  temple  of  glory,  has  no  reason  to  dread  the  iilti* 
mate  result :  however  slow  his  progress  may  be,  he  will,  in  the 
end,  most  indubitably  receive  that  distinction.  While  the  rest, 
*  the  swallows  of  science,"  the  butterflies  of  genius,  may  flutter 
for  their  spring;  but  they  will  soon  pass  away  and  be  remem- 
bered no  more. 

8.  No  enterprising  man,  therefore,  (and  least  of  all,  the  truly 
great  man,)  has  reason  to  droop  or  repine  at  any  efforts,  which 
he  may  suppose  to  be  made  with  the  view  to  depress  him, 
Let,  then,  the  tempest  of  envy  or  of  malice  howl  around  him. 
His  genius  will  consecrate  him ;  and  any  attempt  to  extinguish 
that,  will  be  as  unavailing,  as  would  a  human  effort  "to  quench 
the  stars,"— Wirt, 


LESSON  LIII. 
Character  of  Washington, 

1.  No  matter  what  may  be  the  birthplace  of  such  a  man  as 
Washington.  No  climate  can  claim,  no  country  can  appro* 
priate  him :  the  boon  of  Providence  to  the  human  race:  his 
fame  is  eternity ;  his  residence  creation.  Though  it  was  the 
defeat  of  our  arms,  and  the  disgrace  of  our  policy,  I  almost 
bless  the  convulsion  in  which  he  had  his  origin  :  if  the  heavens 
thundered  and  the  earth  rocked,  yet,  when  the  storm  passed, 
how  pure  was  the  climate  that  it  cleared ;  how  bright  in  the 
brow  of  the  firmament  was  the  planet  it  revealed  to  us  !  In  the 
production  of  Washington,  it  does  really  appear  as  if  nature 
was  endeavouring  to  improve  on  herself,  and  that  all  the*  virtues 
of  the  ancient  world  were  but  so  many  studies  preparatory  to 
the  patriot  of'  the  new. 

2.  Individual  instances,1  no  doubt,  there  were ;  splendid  exem- 
plifications of  some  single  qualification :  Cesar  was  rnerciful ; 
scipio  was  continent;  Hannibal  was  patient;  butit  was  reserved 
for  Washington  to  blend  them  all  in  one,  and  like  the  lovely 
masterpiece  of  the  Grecian  artist,  to  exhibit  in  one  glow  of 


cobb's  sequel.  S3 

associated  beauty,  the  pride  of  every  model,  and  the  perfection 
of  every  master. 

3.  As  a  general,  he  marshalled  the  peasant  into  a  veteran, 
and  supplied  by  discipline  the  absence  of  experience.  As  a, 
statesman,  he  enlarged  the  policy  of  the  cabinet  into  the  most 
comprehensive  system  of  general  advantage ;  and  such  was  the 
wisdom  of  his  views,  and  the  philosophy  of  his  counsels,  that 
to  the  soldier  and  the  statesman,  he  almost  added  the  character 
of  the  sage. 

4.  A  conqueror,  he  was  untainted  with  the  crime  of  blood  ? 
a  revolutionist,  he  was  free  from  any  stain  of  treason ;  for 
aggression  commenced  the  contest,  and  a  country  called  him 
to  the  command;  liberty  unsheathed  his  sword;  necessity 
stained,  victory  returned  it.  If  he  had  paused  here,  history 
might  doubt  what  station  to  assign  him ;  whether  at  the  head 
of  her  citizens  or  her  soldiers,  her  heroes  or  her  patriots.  But 
the  last  glorious  act  crowned  his  career,  and  banishes  hesita- 
tion. Who,  like  Washington,  after  having  freed  a  country, 
resigned  her  crown,  and  retired  to  a  cottage  rather  than  reign 
in  a  capitol. 

5.  Immortal  man !  He  took  from  the  battle  its  crime,  and 
from  the  conquest  its  chains :  he  left  the  victorious  the  glory 
of  his  self-denial,  and  turned  upon  the  vanquished  only  the 
retribution  of  his  mercy,  Happy,  proud  America  !  The  lights 
nings  of  heaven  yielded  to  your  philosophy !  The  temptations 
of  earth  could  not  seduce  your  patriotism ! — Phjllips, 


LESSON  LIV. 
To  the  Eagle. 

1,  Bird  of  the  broad  and  sweeping  wing ! 

Thy  home  is  high  in  heaven, 
Where  wide  the  storms  their  banners  fling, 

And  the  tempest  clouds  are  driven. 
Thy  throne  is  on  the  mountain  top ; 

Thy  fields-^the  boundless  air ; 
And  hoary  peaks,  that  proudly  prop 

The  skies — thy  dwellings  are. 

2.  Thou  sittest  like  a  thing  of  light, 

Amid  the  noontide  blaze : 
The  midway  sun  is  clear  and  bright, 
It  cannot  dim  thy  gaze, 
8 


86 


COBB  S    SEQUEL. 

Thy  pinions,  to  the  rushing  blast, 

O'er  the  bursting  billow  spread, 
Where  the  vessel  plunges,  hurry  past, 

Like  an  angel  of  the  dead. 

3.  Thou  art  perched  aloft  on  the  beetling  crag, 

And  the  waves  are  white  below, 
And  on,  with  a  haste  that  cannot  lag, 

They  rush  in  an  endless  flow. 
Again  thou  hast  plumed  thy  wing  for  flight 

To  lands  beyond  the  sea; 
And  away,  like  a  spirit  wreathed  in  light, 

Thou  hurriest  wild  and  free. 

4.  Thou  hurriest  over  the  myriad  waves, 

And  thou  leavest  them  all  behind ; 
Thou  sweepest  that  place  of  unknown  graves, 

Fleet  as  the  tempest  wind. 
"When  the  night  storm  gathers  dim  and  dark, 

With  a  shrill  and  boding  scream, 
Thou  rushest  by  the  foundering  bark, 

Quick  as  a  passing  dream. 

6.  Lord  of  the  boundless  realm  of  air ! 

In  thy  imperial  name, 
The  hearts  of  the  bold  and  ardent  dare 

The  dangerous  path  of  fame. 
Beneath  the  shade  of  thy  golden  wings, 

The  Roman  legions  bore, 
From  the  river  of  Egypt's  cloudy  springs, 

Their  pride  to  the  polar  shore. 

6.  For  thee  they  fought,  for  thee  they  fell, 

And  their  oath  was  on  thee  laid  ; 
To  thee  the  clarions  raised  their  swell, 

And  the  dying  warriour  prayed. 
Thou  wert,  through  an  age  of  death  and  fears, 

The  image  of  pride  and  power, 
Till  the  gathered  rage  of  a  thousand  years 

Burst  forth  in  one  awful  hour. 

7.  And  then,  a  deluge  of  wrath  it  came, 

And  the  nations  shook  with  dread ; 
And  it  swept  the  earth  till  its  fields  were  flame, 
And  piled  with  the  mingled  dead. 


cobb's  sequel.  87 

Kings  were  rolled  in  the  wasteful  flood, 

With  the  low  and  crouching  slave ; 
And  together  lay,  in  a  shroud  of  blood, 

The  coward  and  the  brave. 

8.  And  where  was  then  thy  fearless  flight  ? 

"O'er  the  dark  mysterious  sea, 
To  the  lands  that  caught  the  setting  light, 

The  cradle  of  Liberty. 
There,  on  the  silent  and  lonely  shore, 

For  ages  I  watched  alone, 
And  the  world,  in  its  darkness,  asked  no  more 

Where  the  glorious  bird  had  flown. 

9.  "But  then  came  a  bold  and  hardy  few, 

And  they  breasted  the  unknown  wave; 
I  caught  afar  the  wandering  crew, 

And  I  knew  they  were  high  and  brave. 
I  wheeled  around  the  welcome  bark, 

As  it  sought  the  desolate  shore; 
And  up  to  heaven,  like  a  joyous  lark, 

My  quivering  pinions  bore. 

10.  "And  now  that  bold  and  hardy  few 

Are  a  nation  wide  and  strong, 
And  danger  and  doubt  I  have  led  them  through, 

And  they  worship  me  in  song ; 
And  over  their  bright  and  glancing  arms, 

On  field,  and  lake,  and  sea, 
With  an  eye  that  fires,  and  a  spell  that  charms, 

I  guide  them  to  victory." — Percival. 


LESSON  LV. 

Extract  from  an  Address,  delivered  at  Northampton,  (Mass.)  before  the 
Agricultural  Society,  by  Samuel  F.  Dickinson. 

1.  A  good  husbandman  will  educate  his  daughters.  I  dis- 
tinguish the  education  of  daughters  from  that  of  sons,  because 
nature  has  designed  them  to  occupy  places  in  families,  and  in 
society,  altogether  dissimilar. 

2.  Daughters  should  be  well  instructed  in  the  useful  sciences, 
comprising  a  good  English  education,  including  a  thorough 


89  cobb's  sequel. 

knowledge  of  our  own  language,  geography,  history,  mathe- 
maticks,  and  natural  philosophy.  The  female  mind,  so  sensi- 
tive, so  susceptible  of  improvement,  should  not  be  neglected. 
This  sensibility  presents  strong  claims  for  its  culture.  God 
hath  designed  nothing  in  vain. 

3.  Daughters  should,  also,  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  business  and  cares  of  a  family.  These  are  among  the  first 
objects  of  woman's  creation ;  they  ought  to  be  among  thefirst 
branches  of  her  education.  She  was  made  for  a  mother.  They 
should  learn  neatness,  economy,  industry,  and  sobriety.  These 
Will  constitute  their  ornaments. 

4.  No  vermilion  will  be  necessary  to  give  colour  or  expres- 
sion to  the  countenance ;  no  artificial  supports  to  give  shape, 
or  torture,  to  the  body.  Nature  will  appear  in  all  her  loveli- 
ness of  proportion  and  beauty ;  and  modesty,  unaffected  gen- 
tleness of  manner,  will  render  them  amiable  in  the  kitchen  and 
dining  room,  and  ornaments  to  the  sitting  room  and  parlour. 

5.  How  enviable  the  parents  of  such  a  daughter.  How 
lovely  the  daughter  herself.  How  happy  the  husband  of  such 
a  wife.  Thrice  happy  the  children  of  such  a  mother.  They 
shall  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed,  and  her  memory  shall  live. 

6.  The  influence  of  the  female  character  can  not  be  estimated. 
It  is  decisive  of  the  character  of  the  other  sex.  If  her  character 
be  pure,  and  elevated,  and  without  reproach  ;  such  will  be  the 
character  of  the  other  sex.  There  is  no  man  so  much  a  mon- 
ster that  he  would  dare  to  be  vicious  in  the  presence  of  a 
modest  and  virtuous  woman.  Her  character  is  a  shield  against 
even  the  solicitation  to  vice. 

7.  Every  thing,  domestick  or  social,  depends  on  the  female 
character.  As  daughters  and  sisters,  they  decide  the  charac- 
ter of  the  family.  As  wives,  they  emphatically  decide  the 
character  of  their  husbands,  and  their  condition  also. 

8.  It  has  been  not  unmeaningly  said,  that  the  husband  must 
ask  his  wife  whether  he  may  be  respected.  He  certainly  must 
inquire  at  her  altar  whether  he  may  be  prosperous  or  happy. 
As  mothers,  they  decide  the  character  of  their  children. — 
Eternity  only  can  disclose  the  consequences. 

9.  Nature  has  constituted  them  the  early  guardians  and  in- 
structed of  their  children,  and  clothed  them  with  sympathies 
suited  to  this  important  trust.  Who  that  had  a  pious  and 
faithful  mother,  can,  without  emotion,  call  to  mind  her  early 
solicitude,  and.  prayers,  and  counsels,  in  his  behalf  ?  Such 
remembrance  shall  not  cease  to  warm  and  enrich  the  heart,  so 
long  as  clothed  with  mortality.  And  of  this,  and  of  that,  it 
shall  be  said  in  heaven,  he  had  a  faithful,  a  pious  mother. 


cobb's  sequel.  89 

10»  Half  the  wretchedness  and  misery  in  families,  arising 
from  temper,  or  want  of  economy  in  the  wife,  has  not  been  told. 
Not  even  the  bestial  habit  of  drunkenness  in  the  husband, 
produces  more  disastrous  consequences.  To  this  cause,  also, 
may  be  attributed  many  of  the  vices  of  the  husband.  He  will 
not  love  home,  if  his  fireside  is  rendered  uncomfortable  or 
unpleasant.  And  when  the  lote  of  home  is  gone,  the  man  is 
lost.     There  is  no  redemption.     Better  that  he  had  not  been ! 

11.  The  appearance  of  the  husband,  and  the  condition  of  the 
children,  faithfully  express  the  character  of  the  wife.  If  she 
be  the  neat,  prudent,  modest  and  dignified  woman,  her  husband 
Will  proclaim  it  wherever  he  goes ;  in  his  countenance,  in  his 
apparel,  in  his  whole  demeanour ;  it  is  inscribed  on  every  thing 
about  him.  The  children,  also,  will  be  modest  and  manly;  in 
clean  and  whole  apparel.  If  she  chance  to  possess  the  oppo- 
site qualities,  her  husband  will  be  uneasy,  fretful,  and  gloomy, 
he  knows  not  why ;  and  her  children,  impudent  and  ugly,  their 
apparel  unmended  and  unwashed. 

12.  These  appearances,  and  they  are  not  images  of  fancy,  as 
surely  foretel  the  ruin  of  a  family,  as  does  the  thunder  cloud, 
the  rain,  or  the  rumbling  of  the  mountain,  the  bursting  of  a 
volcano. 

13.  How  important,  then,  that  every  husbandman  should 
educate  well  his  daughters,  cherishing  and  maturing  all  that 
excellence  of  mind,  and  temper,  and  sincerity  of  heart,  which 
belong  to  her  sex,  pre-eminently  fit  her  for  the  endearing 
relations  of  child,  of  sister,  of  wife,  and  of  mother.  How 
important,  also,  to  every  young  man,  that  he  be  blessed  with 
such  a  connexion. 

14.  It  cannot  be  too  often,  or  too  strongly  impressed  upon 
the  minds  of  fathers,  and  of  mothers  too,  that  their  daughters 
hold,  in  their  keeping,  the  destinies  of  the  present,  and,  at  least, 
of  the  generation  to  come.  How  desirable,  too,  that  their 
other  virtues  be  clothed  with  piety.  Pious  women  have  ever 
been  highly  favoured  of  heaven.  They  were  first  to  listen  at 
the  feet  of  the  Saviour,  first  to  weep  at  his  sufferings,  last  to 
linger  around  his  cross,  first  to  worship  at  his  sepulchre ;  to 
them,  first  was  announced  the  resurrection.  They  shall  stand 
nearest  his  throne. 

8* 


§t  cobb's  sequel* 


LESSON  LVI. 

Song  of  Marion's  Men. 

(The  exploits  of  General  Francis  Marion,  the  famous  partisan  warriouf 
of  South  Carolina,  form  an  interesting  portion  of  tne  annals  of  thd 
American  Revolution.] 

1.  Oiir  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader,  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  green  wood) 

Our  tent  the  cypress  tree ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines* 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 

Within  the  dark  morass. 

2.  Wo  to  the  English  soldiery 

That  little  dread  us  near ! 
On  them  shall  light,  at  midnight) 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear : 
When  waking  to  their  tents  on  fire 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again  ; 
And  they  who  fly  in  terrour,  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind* 

3.  Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

From  danger  and  from  toil : 
We  talk  the  battle  over, 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves* 


COBB's   SEQUEL  91 

And  slumber  long  and  sweetly, 
On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

4.  Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads ; 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'Tis  life  our  fiery  barbs  to  guide 

Across  the  moonlit  plains ; 
'Tis  life  to  feel  the  night  wind 

That  lifts  their  tossing  manes. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp, 

A  moment,  and  away 
Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 

Before  the  peep  of  day. 

•5.  Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs, 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band, 

With  kindliest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton, 

For  ever,  from  our  shore. — W.  C.  Bryant. 


LESSON  LVII. 

On  the  True  Honour  of  Man. 

1.  Tftfc  proper  honour  of  man  arises  not  from  some  of  thosei 
splendid  actions  and  abilities  which  excite  high  admiration. 
Courage  and  prowess,  military  renown,  signal  victories  and 
conquests,  may  render  the  name  of  a  man  famous,  without 
rendering  his  character  truly  honourable.  To  many  brave 
men,  to  many  heroes  renowned  in  story,  we  look  up  with  won- 
der. Their  exploits  are  recorded.  Their  praises  are  sung. 
They  stand  as  on  an  eminence  above  the  rest  of  mankind. — ■ 
Their  eminence,  nevertheless,  may  not  be  of  that  sort  before 
which  we  bow  with  inward  esteem  and  respect.     Something 


9£  cobb's  sequel. 

more  is  wanted  for  that  purpose  than  the  conquering  arm,  and 
the  intrepid  mind. 

2.  The  laurels  of  the  warriour  must,  at  all  times,  be  died  in 
blood,  and  bedewed  with  the  tears  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan. 
But  if  they  have  been  stained  by  rapine  and  inhumanity;  if 
sordid  avarice  has  marked  his  character;  or  low  and  gross 
sensuality  has  degraded  his  life ;  the  great  hero  sinks  into  a 
little  man.  What,  at  a  distance,  or  on  a  superficial  view,  we 
admired,  becomes  mean,  perhaps  odious,  when  we  examine  it 
more  closely.  It  is  like  the  Colossal  statue,  whose  immense 
size  struck  the  spectator  afar  off  with  astonishment ;  but  when 
nearly  viewed,  it  appears  disproportioned,  unshapely,  and  rude 

3.  Observations  of  the  same  kind  may  be  applied  to  all  the 
reputation  derived  from  civil  accomplishments;  from  the  refim  d 
politicks  of  the  statesman  ;  or  the  literary  efforts  of  genius  and 
erudition.  These  bestow,  and,  within  certain  bounds,  ought  to 
bestow  eminence  and  distinction  on  men.  They  discover 
talents  which,  in  themselves,  are  shining,  and  which  become 
highly  valuable  when  employed  in  advancing  the  good  of 
mankind.  Hence,  they  frequently  give  rise  to  fame.  But  a 
distinction  is  to  be  made  between  fame  and  true  honour. 

4.  The  statesman,  the  orator,  or  the  poet,  may  be  famous; 
while  yet  the  man  himself  is  far  from  being  honoured.  We 
envy  his  abilities.  We  wish  to  rival  them.  But  we  would  not 
choose  to  be  classed  with  him  who  possesses  them.  Instances 
of  this  sort  are  too  often  found  in  every  record  of  ancient  cr 
modern  history. 

5.  From  all  this  it  follows,  that  in  order  to  discern  where 
man's  true  honour  lies,  we  must  look,  not  to  any  adventitious 
circumstances  of  fortune;  not  to  any  single  sparkling  quality; 
but  to  the  whole  of  what  forms  a  man  ;  what  entitles  him,  as 
such,  to  rank  high  among  that  class  of  beings  to  which  he 
belongs  ;  in  a  word,  we  must  look  to  the  mind  and  the  soul. 

6.  A  mind  superiour  to  fear,  to  selfish  interest  and  corruption; 
a  mind  governed  by  the  principles  of  uniform  rectitude  and 
integrity;  the  same  in  prosperity  and  adversity;  which  no 
bribe  can  seduce,  nor  terrour  overawe;  neither  by  pleasure 
melted  into  effeminacy,  nor  by  distress  sunk  into  dejection  ; 
such  is  the  mind  which  forms  the  distinction  and  eminence 
of  mam 

7.  One  who,  in  no  situation  of  life,  is  either  ashamed  or 
afraid  of  discharging  his  duty,  and  acting  his  proper  part  with 
firmness  and  constancy;  true  to  the  God  whom  he  worships, 
and  true  to  the  faith  in  which  he  professes  to  believe;  full  of 
affection  to  his  brethren  of  mankind;  faithful  to  his  friends, 


cobb's  sequel.  93 

generous  to  his  enemies,  warm  with  compassion  to  the  unfortu- 
nate; self-denying  to  little  private  interests  and  pleasures,  but 
zealous  for  publick  interest  and  happiness;  magnanimous, 
without  being  proud ;  humble,  without  being  mean ;  just, 
without  being  harsh ;  simple  in  his  manners,  but  manly  in  his 
feelings ;  on  whose  words  we  can  entirely  rely ;  whose  coun- 
tenance never  deceives  us ;  whose  professions  of  kindness  are 
the  effusions  of  his  heart :  one,  in  fine,  whom,  independent  of 
any  views  of  advantage,  we  would  choose  for  a  superiour,  could 
trust  in  as  a  friend,  and  could  love  as  a  brother ;  this  is  the 
man,  whom  in  our  heart,  above  all  others,  we  do,  we  must 
honour. — Blair. 


LESSON  LVIII. 
The  Nature  of  True  Eloquence. 

1.  When  publick  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  strong  passions 
excited,  nothing  is  valuable  in  speech,  farther  than  it  is  con- 
nected with  high  intellectual  and  moral  endowments.  Clear- 
ness, force,  and  earnestness,  are  the  qualities  which  produce 
conviction. 

2.  True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  consist  in  speech.  It 
cannot  be  brought  from  far.  Labour  and  learning  may  toil  for 
it,  but  they  will  toil  in  vain.  Words  and  phrases  may  be 
marshalled  in  every  way,  but  they  cannot  compass  it.  It 
must  exist  in  the  man,  in  the  subject,  and  in  the  occasion. 

3.  Affected  passion,  intense  expression,  the  pomp  of  decla- 
mation, all  may  aspire  after  it ;  they  cannot  reach  it.  It  comes, 
if  it  come  at  all,  like  the  outbreaking  of  a  fountain  from  the 
earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanick  fires,  with  spontaneous, 
original,  native  force. 

4.  The  graces  taught  in  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments  and 
studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust  men,  when 
their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives,  their  children,  and 
their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of  the  hour. 

5.  Then,  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetorick  is  vain,  and 
all  elaborate  oratory  contemptible.  Even  genius  itself  then  feels 
rebuked  and  subdued,  as  i:i  the  presence  of  higher  qualities. 
Then,  patriotism  is  eloquent ;  then,  self-devotion  is  eloquent. 

6.  The  clear  conception,  outrunning  the  deductions  of 
logick,  the  high  purpose,  the  firm  resolve,  the  dauntless  spirit. 


94  cobb's  sequel. 

speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  informing  every 
feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward,  right  onward,  to  his 
object ;  this,  this  is  eloquence ;  or,  rather,  it  is  something 
greater  and  higher  than  all  eloquence ;  it  is  action,  noble, 
sublime,  godlike  action* — D.  Webster. 


LESSON  LIX. 
The  Education  of  the  Poor, 

1.  The  education  of  the  poor  sifts  the  talents  of  a  country, 
and  discovers  the  choicest  gifts  of  nature  in  the  depths  of  solitude, 
and  in  the  darkness  of  poverty ;  for  Providence  often  sets  the 
grandest  spirits  in  the  lowest  places,  and  gives  to  many  a  man 
a  soul  far  better  than  his  birth,  compelling  him  to  dig  with  a 
spade,  who  had  better  wielded  a  sceptre. 

2.  Education  searches  every  where  for  talents;  sifting  among 
the  gravel  for  the  gold,  holding  up  every  pebble  to  the  light,  and 
seeing  whether  it  be  the  refuse  of  nature,  or  whether  the  hand 
of  art  can  give  it  brilliancy  and  price. 

3.  There  are  no  bounds  to  the  value  of  this  sort  of  education. 
I  come  here  to  speak  upon  this  occasion ;  when  fourteen  or 
fifteen  youths,  who  have  long  participated  of  your  bounty, 
come  to  return  you  their  thanks. 

4.  How  do  we  know  that  there  may  not  be,  among  all  these, 
one  who  shall  enlarge  the  boundaries  of  knowledge;  who  shall 
increase  the  power  of  his  country  by  his  enterprise  in  com- 
merce; watch  over  its  safety  in  the  most  critical  times  by  his 
vigilance  as  a  magistrate ;  and  consult  its  true  happiness  by  his 
integrity  and  his  ability  as  a  senator  ? 

5.  On  all  other  things  there  is  a  sign,  or  a  mark ;  we  know 
them  immediately,  or  we  can  find  them  out ;  but  man,  we  do 
not  know ;  for  one  man  differs  from  another  man,  as  heaven 
differs  from  earth ;  and  the  excellence  that  is  in  him,  education 
seeks  for  with  vigilance,  and  preserves  with  care.  We  might 
make  a  brilliant  list  of  our  great  English  characters  who  have 
been  born  in  cottages.  May  it  ever  increase ;  there  can  be  no 
surer  sign  that  we  are  a  wise  and  a  happy  people. — Smith. 


cobb's  sequel.  95 

LESSON  LX. 

The  Love  of  Nature. 

1.  When  the  mind  becomes  animated  with  a  love  of  nature, 
nothing  is  seen  that  does  not  become  an  object  for  curiosity  and 
inquiry.  A  person  under  the  influence  of  this  principle  can 
converse  with  a  picture,  and  find  an  agreeable  companion  in  a 
statue.  He  meets  with  a  secret  refreshment  in  a  description ; 
and  often  feels  a  greater  satisfaction  in  the  prospect  of  fields  and 
meadows,  than  another  does  in  the  possession. 

2.  It  gives  him,  indeed,  a  kind  of  property  in  every  thing  he 
sees ;  and  makes  the  most  rude  uncultivated  parts  of  nature 
administer  to  his  pleasure ;  so  that  he  looks  upon  the  world, 
as  it  were,  in  another  light,  and  discovers  in  it  a  multitude 
of  charms,  that  conceal  themselves  from  the  generality  of 
mankind. 

3.  A  river  is  traced  to  its  fountain ;  a  flower  to  its  seed ;  and 
an  oak  to  its  acorn.  If  a  marine  fossil  lies  on  the  side  of  a 
mountain,  the  mind  is  employed  in  the  endeavour  to  ascertain 
the  cause  of  its  position. 

4.  If  a  tree  is  buried  in  the  depths  of  a  morass,  the  history 
of  the  world  is  traced  to  the  deluge ;  and  he  who  grafts,  inocu- 
lates, and  prunes,  as  well  as  he  who  plants  and  transplants,  will 
derive  an  innocent  pleasure  in  noting  the  habits  of  trees  and 
their  modes  of  culture ;  the  soils  in  which  they  delight ;  the 
shapes  into  which  they  mould  themselves ;  and  will  enjoy  as 
great  a  satisfaction  from  the  symmetry  of  an  oak,  as  from  the 
symmetry  of  an  animal. 

5.  Every  tree  that  bends,  and  every  flower  that  blushes,  even 
a  leafless  copse,  a  barren  plain,  the  cloudy  firmament,  and  the 
rocky  mountain,  are  objects  for  his  attentive  meditation.    For-— 

To  him,  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  gentle  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware, — Bryant. 


96  cobb's  sequel. 

LESSON  LXI. 

Domestick  Economy. 

[Extract  from  an  Address  delivered  by  Cyrus  Barton,  one  of  the  editors 
of  the  New  Hampshire  Patriot  and  State  Gazette,  before  the  Concord 
Mechanicks'  Association,  October  5,  1831.] 

1.  The  love  of  distinction  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  strongest 
passions  of  the  human  breast,  to  acquire  this,  the  means  resorted 
to  are  as  various  as  the  dispositions  and  habits  of  men  are  dis- 
cordant, or  as  the  customs  of  society  in  various  countries  and 
ages  of  the  world  are  different. 

2.  In  our  own  country,  where  the  genius  of  our  institutions 
reduces  all  men  to  a  natural  level ;  where  the  highest  offices 
and  the  most  dignified  stations  are  legitimate  objects  for  the 
pursuit  of  all  who  choose  to  compete  for  them ;  the  barriers 
which  circumscribe  the  field  of  ambition  are  removed,  and  a 
wider  range  is  given  for  the  exercise  of  the  various  talents; and 
acquirements  incident  to  a  civilized,  brave,  and  refined  people. 

3.  But  this  very  freedom  which  we  enjoy;  this  nattiral 
equality  which  our  constitutions  and  laws  secure  to  all  our 
citizens,  although  far  from  being  an  evil  in  itself,  may  be*  and 
doubtless  is,  often  converted  into  an  evil,  which  bears  heavily 
upon  a  great  portion  of  our  citizens. 

4.  Our  institutions  making  us  all  equal,  there  i&  a  strong 
propensity  to  preserve  an  appearance  of  equality  as  regards 
wealth,  and  the  external  trappings  of  fashion  with  our  more 
fortunate  neighbours,  whatever  may  be  our  ability  to  sustain 
such  appearance. 

5.  Hence  the  evil.  Instead  of  being  content  to  move  on  in 
the  circumscribed  limits  to  which  our  circumstances  bind  us, 
we  often  bring  poverty,  and  ruin,  and  wretchedness  upon  our- 
selves and  families,  in  a  vain  endeavour  to  ape  the  fashions  of 
those  who  have  the  ability  to  incur  such  expenditures,  without 
injury  to  themselves. 

6.  It  is  this  cause  which  has  led  many  people,  and  especially 
many  mechanieks  into  useless  extravagance  and  unnecessary 
expenditures,  until  bankruptcy  and  ruin  have  overtaken  them. 

7.  It  is,  I  believe,  a  very  general  errour  into  which  people 
fall,  to  attach  a  consequence  to  external  decorations  which  they 
are  not  entitled  to,  and  to  trust  to  them  for  respectability  in 
society,  while  they  overlook  those  essential  qualities,  integrity, 
industry,  and  intelligence ;  without  which  no  mechanick  can 


cobb's  sequel.  97 

ever  hope  to  arrive  at  eminence  in  his  profession,  or  to  any 
good  degree  of  respectability  in  society. 

8.  It  is  a  mistaken  notion  altogether,  to  suppose  that  a  fine 
house,  line  furniture,  and  fine  equipage  are  necessary  to  confer 
respectability,  or  that  a  man  is  esteemed  more  highly  in 
consequence  of  them.  To  those  who  can  afford  them,  such 
indulgences  are  rational  and  laudable. 

9.  But  when  we  see  a  young  mechanick  with  a  small  capital, 
all  of  which  is  necessary  to  carry  on  his  business,  going  beyond 
his  resources  in  this  particular ;  setting  up  house-keeping  in  a 
style  of  extravagance  proper  only  for  the  rich,  he  not  only 
suffers  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  in  consequence,  but  also 
in  his  reputation. 

10.  His  credit  suffers,  and  prudent  men  will  utter  predictions 
of  his  future  fate,  which  are  almost  sure  to  be  verified.  No 
young  mechanick  was  ever  thought  the  worse  of,  or  received 
with  less  consideration  in  society,  for  graduating  his  expendi- 
tures according  to  his  means,  and  for  living  Avithin  his  income, 
although  his  house  may  carry  the  most  plain  and  unosten- 
tatious appearance,  and  his  table  indicate  the  most  frugal  and 
homely  fare.  + 

11.  But,  on  the  contrary,  this  very  plainness  and  frugality, 
will  procure  for  him  the  respect  of  the  sensible  and  reflecting. 
He  will  secure  a  reputation  for  economy  and  good  manage- 
ment ;  his  credit  will  rise  in  the  neighbourhood ;  his  business 
will  increase,  and,  in  the  end,  his  habits  of  industry  and 
economy,  will  enable  him  to  indulge  in  all  the  innocent  and 
rational  luxuries  attendant  upon  wealth,  acquired  by  honest 
means. 

12.  It  is  a  desire  to  get  forward  in  the  world  too  soon,  that 
has  ruined  many  an  intelligent  and  enterprising  young  me- 
chanick. An  impatience  to  assume  a  station  in  fashionable 
society,  before  he  has  acquired  the  means  to  sustain  the  char- 
acter in  which  he  is  so  desirous  to  figure,  has  brought  down 
many  a  promising  mechanick,  who,  but  for  this  mistaken 
notion  of  what  constitutes  true  respectability,  might,  in  a  few 
years,  have  enjoyed,  in  full  fruition,  the  reality  of  all  his 
rational  hopes  and  desires. 

9 


98  cobb's  sequel, 

LESSON  LXII. 

Scetie  of  Misery. 

1.  I  saw  at  midnight's  lone  and  silent  hour, 

A  sorrowing  mother  with  her  sleeping  babe, 
Waiting  in  silence  the  return  of  him 
Who  was  her  husband.     Pale  and  wan, 
And  worn  away  with  grief,  she  sat 
A  picture  of  dejection,  sorrow,  and  despair. 

2.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  as  she  gazed 
Upon  her  senseless  infant  as  it  slept, 
Unconscious  of  its  mother's  tears,  that  flowed 
In  secret  silence  on  its  sleeping  form ; 

She  thought  of  other  times,  the  happier  times, 
When  in  the  sunshine  of  her  father  s  smiles, 
Her  mother's  tender  and  paternal  care  : 

3.  With  friends  and  kindred  relatives  around, — 
Brother's  and  sister's  in  affection  joined, — 
She  past  the  happy  years  of  youth  away ; 
When  he, — now  levelled  with  the  brutes, — 
Was  every  thing  that's  good  and  virtuous, 
And  for  whom  she  left  a  home 

Of  peace  and  happiness,  o'er  which  no  cloud 
Scarce  ever  rose  to  darken  what  was  joy. 

4.  'Twas  then  the  path  of  life  looked  plain, 

And  the  deceitful  dream  that  promised  happiness, 
And  spread  the  path  with  visionary  flowers, 
She  thought  would  bloom  for  ever  bright, 
And  ne'er  be  withered  by  an  adverse  blast. 

5.  She  mused  too  on  the  change,  that  fatal  change, 
Which  blasted  all  her  happiness,  and  made 
The  future  wear  an  aspect  dark  and  dismal ; 
She  thought  upon  herself:  what  could  she  do? 
When  he,  who,  in  the  presence  of  the  Eternal  One, 
And  mem  and  angels,  solemnly  did  vow, 

That  he  would  guide,  protect,  and  comfort  her, 
Was  now  a  poor,  debased,  and  miserable  being ; 
A  slave  to  his  own  appetite,  and  fallen 
On  a  level  with  the  beasts. 


cobb's  sequel,  99 

0.  Suddenly  the  step 

Of  his  approach  was  heard ;  I  saw  her  shrink 
With  timid  fear,  as  nearer  yet  the  sound 
Of  his  return  fell  on  her  listening  ear. 
It  was  not  always  thus.     There  was  a  time 
When  his  return  was  welcomed  back  with  smiles. 

7.  But  it  was  different  now.     His  tottering  steps 
Had  reached  his  door  :  with  trembling  hand 
'Twas  opened.     There  he  stood 

With  glaring  eyeballs,  and  a  look 

That  more  became  a  devil  than  a  man. 

He  gazed  upon  his  sorrowing  wife  and  sleeping  babe, 

Without  one  spark  of  that  affection  which 

Once  burnt  within,  a  pure  and  holy  flame. 

8.  Rum  had  changed 
Affection  into  hatred ;  had  taken  away 

A  heart  of  flesh,  and,  in  its  stead, 

Had  placed  a  heart  of  stone  ;  or  such  a  one 

As  dwells  within  the  tiger's  breast, 

Where  pity  never  enters ;  and  the  melting  cry 

Of  suffering  innocence  may  plead  in  vain, 

To  find  an  entrance  to  his  savage  breast. — T. 

Pawtucket  Chronicle. 


LESSON  LXIII. 
History  of  the  English  Language, 

1.  The  language  which  is  at  present  spoken  throughout 
Great  Britain,  is  neither  the  ancient  primitive  speech  of  the 
island,  nor  derived  from  it,  but  is  altogether  of  foreign  origin. 
The  language  of  the  first  inhabitants  of  our  island,  beyond 
doubt,  was  the  Celtick,  or  Gaelick*  common  to  them  with  Gaul; 
from  which  country  it  appears,  by  many  circumstances,  that 
Great  Britain  was  peopled. 

2.  This  Celtick  tongue,  which  is  said  to  be  very  expressive 
and  copious,  and  is  probably  one  of  the  most  ancient  languages 
in  the  world,  obtained  once  in  most  of  the  western  regions  of 
Europe. 

3.  It  was  the  language  of  Gaul,  of  Great  Britain,  of  Ireland, 
and  very  probably  of  Spain  also ;  till,  in  the  course  of  those 


100  cobb's  sequel. 

revolutions,  which,  by  means  of  the  conquests,  first  of  the 
Romans,  and  afterward  of  the  northern  nations,  changed  the 
government,  speech,  and,  in  a  manner,  the  whole  face  of  Europe. 
This  tongue  was  gradually  obliterated,  and  now  subsists  only  in 
the  mountains  of  Wales,  in  the  highlands  of  Scotland,  and 
among  the  wild  Irish ;  for  the  Irish,  the  Welsh,  and  the  Erse, 
are  no  other  than  different  dialects  of  the  same  tongue,  the 
ancient  Celtick. 

4.  This,  then,  was  the  language  of  the  primitive  Britons,  the 
first  inhabitants  that  we  know  of  in  our  island,  and  continued 
so  till  the  arrival  of  the  Saxons  in  England,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  450 ;  who,  having  conquered  the  Britons,  did  not  inter- 
mix with  them,  but  expelled  them  from  their  habitations,  and 
drove  them,  together  with  their  language,  into  the  mountains 
of  Wales. 

5.  The  Saxons  were  one  of  those  northern  nations  that 
overran  Europe ;  and  their  tongue,  a  dialect  of  the  Gothick, 
or  Teutonick,  altogether  distinct  from  the  Celtick,  laid  the 
foundation  of  the  present  English  tongue.  With  some  inter- 
mixture of  Danish,  a  language  probably  from  the  same  root 
with  the  Saxon,  it  continued  to  be  spoken  throughout  the 
southern  part  of  the  island,  till  the  time  of  William  the 
Conqueror. 

6.  He  introduced  his  Norman  or  French,  as  the  language 
of  the  court,  which  made  a  considerable  change  in  the  speech 
of  the  nation ;  and  the  English  which  was  spoken  afterward, 
and  continues  to  be  spoken  now,  is  a  mixture  of  the  ancient 
Saxon  and  this  Norman  French,  together  with  such  new  and 
foreign  words  as  commerce  and  learning  have,  in  progress  of 
time,  gradually  introduced. 

7.  The  history  of  the  English  language  can,  in  this  manner, 
be  clearly  traced.  The  language  spoken  in  the  low  countries 
of  Scotland  is  now,  and  has  been  for  many  centuries,  no  other 
than  a  dialect  of  the  English.  How,  indeed,  or  by  what  steps, 
the  ancient  Celtick  tongue  came  to  be  banished  from  the  low 
country  in  Scotland,  and  to  make  its  retreat  into  the  highlands 
and  islands,  cannot  be  so  well  pointed  out,  as  how  the  like 
revolution  was  brought  about  in  England. 

8.  Whether  the  southernmost  part  of  Scotland  was  once 
subject  to  the  Saxons,  and  formed  a  part  of  the  kingdom  of 
Northumberland,  or  whether  the  great  number  of  English 
exiles  that  retreated  into  Scotland  upon  the  Norman  conquest, 
and  upon  other  occasions,  introduced  into  that  country  their 
own  language,  which  afterward,  by  the  mutual  intercourse  of 
the  two  nations,  prevailed  over  the  Celtick,  are  uncertain  and 


Contested  points,  the  discussion  of  which  wcu?d  lead  us  too 
far  from  our  subject.  .  ;         »«    ; 

9.  From  what  has  been  said,  it  appears  that  the  Teutonic^ 
dialect  is  the  basis  of  our  present  speech.  It  has  been  imported 
among  us  in  three  different  forms  :  the  Saxon,  the  Danish,  and 
the  Norman ;  all  which  have  mingled  together  in  our  language. 
A  very  great  number  of  our  words  too  are  plainly  derived 
from  the  Latin.  These  we  had  not  directly  from  the  Latin, 
but  most  of  them,  it  is  probable*  entered  into  our  tongue  through 
the  channel  of  that  Norman  French,  which  William  the  Con- 
queror introduced. 

10.  For,  as  the  Romans  had  long  been  in  full  possession 
of  Gaul,  the  language  spoken  in  that  country,  when  it  was 
invaded  by  the  Franks  and  Normans,  was  a  sort  of  corrupted 
Latin,  mingled  with  Celtick,  to  which  was  given  the  name  of 
Romanshe ;  and  as  the  Franks  and  Normans  did  not,  like  the 
Saxons  in  England,  expel  the  inhabitants,  but,  after  their  vic- 
tories, mingled  with  them  ;  the  language  of  the  country  became 
a  compound  of  the  Teutonick  dialect,  imported  by  these  con* 
querors,  and  of  the  former  corrupted  Latin. 

11.  Hence,  the  French  language  has  always  continued  to 
have  a  very  considerable  affinity  with  the  Latin ;  and,  hence,  a 
great  number  of  words  of  Latin  origin,  which  were  in  use 
among  the  Normans  in  France,  were  introduced  into  our  tongue 
at  the  conquest ;  to  which,  indeed,  many  have  since  been  added 
directly  from  the  Latin,  in  consequence  of  the  great  diffusion 
of  Roman  literature  throughout  all  Europe.*— Blair. 


LESSON  LXIV. 

Evils  in  Female  Education. 

1.  YottNG  ladies  suffer  from  the  habits  of  schools*  Theif 
exercise  is  much  too  limited.  They  walk  out,  it  is  true,  but 
scarcely  at  a  rate  sufficient  to  warm  their  feet.  Their  time  for 
amusement  is  too  little ;  and  full  romping  exercise,  exercise 
which  brings  all  the  muscles  into  play,  is  discouraged. 

2.  It  is  vulgar  to  use  the  limbs  as  nature  designed ;  it  is 
vulgar  to  take  the  food  which  nature  requires ;  and  young" 
ladies  must  not  do  any  thing  that  is  vulgar.  Sitting,  moreover, 
for  hours  at  needlework,  or  in  what  are  called  accomplish* 
ments,  they  leave  a  numerous  class  of  muscles  wasting  for 
Want  of  exercise* 

0* 


10$*  C0BB*S   SEQUEL. 

0  3.  The  muscles  x)f  the* back  are  especially  enfeebled,  and 
rhe  sr»?nal- column  in*  youth,  comparatively  soft  and  flexible, 
%ends  under  -the -weight  'of  the  head  and  arms.  The  spine 
yields,  because  the  muscles  which  closely  connect  the  bones, 
and  by  their  action  keep  them  in  a  proper  line,  are  too  weak. 

4.  We  are  often  asked,  why  are  spinal  complaints  so  com- 
mon ?  We  answer,  that  a  principal  cause  is  the  want  of  full 
exercise;  we  say  that  young  persons  are  obliged  to  acquire 
what  is  of  little  or  no  use  in  after  life,  while  they  neglect  what 
is  necessary  to  the  establishment  of*  the  body  in  health  and 
vigour ;  in  short,  we  have  daily  to  lament,  that  the  muscular 
exercise  is  sacrificed  to  accomplishments  and  learning. 

5.  If  it  be  asked,  why  are  girls  more  subject  to  distortion 
than  boys  ?  The  amusements  of  the  boys  are  far  more  active 
than  sedentary;  those  of  the  girls  are  more  sedentary  than 
active. 

6.  When  girls  leave  the  school,  the  same  system  of  muscular 
quietism  is  enforced.  They  must  keep  up  their  accomplish- 
ments by  practice.  Several  hours  a  day  they  must  devote  to 
musick,  and,  frequently,  a  considerable  time  to  the  more  injuri- 
ous occupation  of  drawing ;  most  of  the  remaining  day  they 
spend  in  finger  occupations. 

7.  Little  time  is  devoted  to  exercise  in  the  open  air,  and  the 
exercise  they  do  take,  is  such  as  to  chill,  rather  than  to  invigo- 
rate the  circulation.  Need  I  add,  that  half  the  disorders  of  the 
young  arise  from  the  errours  I  have  mentioned  ?  Need  1  advert 
to  remedies  and  preventions?   They  are  obvious. 

Thackrah  on  the  Influence  of  Employment. 


LESSON  LXV. 

March. 

The  stormy  March  is  come  at  last, 
With  wind,  and  cloud,  and  changing  skies  J 

I  hear  the  rushing  of  the  blast, 
That  through  the  snowy  valley  flies. 

Ah !  passing  few  are  they  who  speak, 
Wild,  stormy  month,  in  praise  of  thee ; 

Yet,  though  thy  winds  are  loud  and  bleak, 
Thou  art  a  welcome  month  to  me. 


cobb's  sequel.  103 

3.  For  thou  to  northern  lands  again 

The  glad  and  glorious  sun  dost  bring, 
And  thou  hast  joined  the  gentle  train, 
And  wearest  the  gentle  name  of  spring. 

4.  And,  in  thy  reign  of  blast  and  storm. 

Smiles  many  a  long,  bright,  sunny  day, 
When  the  changed  winds  are  soft  and  warm, 
And  heaven  puts  on  the  blue  of  May. 

5.  Then  sing  aloud  the  gushing  rills, 

And  the  fall  springs  from  frost  set  free, 
That,  brightly  leaping  down  the  hills, 
Are  jusi  set  out  to  meet  the  sea. 

6.  The  year's  departing  beauty  hides, 

Of  wintry  storms,  the  suilen  threat ; 
But,  in  thy  sternest  frown,  abides 
A  look  of  kindly  promise  yet. 

7.  Thou  bringest  the  hope  of  those  calm  skies, 

And  that  soft  time  of  sunny  showers, 
When  the  wide  bloom,  on  earth  that  lies, 
Seems  of  a  brighter  world  than  ours. — Bryant. 


LESSON  LXVI. 
April. 

1.  When  the  warm  sun,  that  brings 
Seedtime  and  harvest,  has  returned  again, 

'Tis  sweet  to  visit  the  still  wood,  where  springs 
The  first  flower  of  the  plain. 

2.  I  love  the  season  well, 

When  forest  glades  are  teeming  with  bright  forms 
Nor  dark  and  many-folded  clouds  foretel 
The  coming  in  of  storms. 

3.  From  the  earth's  loosened  mould 

The  sapling  draws  its  sustenance,  and  thrives : 
Though  stricken  to  the  heart  with  winter's  coJd, 
The  drooping  tree  revives. 


104  cobb's  sequel. 

4.  The  softly  warbled  song 

Comes  through  the  pleasant  woods,  and  coloured  wings 
Are  glancing  in  the  golden  sun,  along 
The  forest  openings. 

5.  And  when  bright  sunset  fills 

The  silver  woods  with  light,  the  green  slope  throws 
Its  shadows  in  the  hollows  of  the  hills* 
And  wide  the  upland  glows. 

6.  And  when  the  day  is  gone 

In  the  blue  lake,  the  sky,  o'erreaching  far, 
Is  hollowed  out,  and  the  moon  dips  her  horn, 
And  twinkles  many  a  star. 

?.  Inverted  in  the  tide 

Stand  the  gray  rocks,  and  trembling  shadows  throw, 
And  the  fair  trees  look  over,  side  by  side, 
And  see  themselves  below. 

8.  Sweet  April,  many  a  thought 

Is  wedded  unto  thee,  as  hearts  are  wed ; 
Nor  shall  they  fail,  till,  to  its  autumn  brought, 
Life's  golden  fruit  is  shed.^LoNGFELLow» 


LESSON  LXVII. 

General  Washington  to  his  Troops. 

Delivered  before  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  in  1776. 

1.  The  time  is  now  near  at  hand,  which  must,  probably, 
determine  whether  Americans  are  to  be  freemen  or  slaves; 
whether  they  are  to  have  any  property  they  can  call  their  own ; 
whether  their  houses  and  farms  are  to  be  pillaged  and  destroyed, 
and  themselves  consigned  to  a  state  of  wretchedness,  from 
which  no  human  efforts  will  deliver  them. 

2.  The  fate  of  unborn  millions  will  now  depend,  under  God, 
on  the  courage  and  conduct  of  this  army.  Our  cruel  and  unre- 
lenting enemy  leaves  us  only  the  choice  of  a  brave  resistance, 
or  the  most  abject  submission.  We  have  therefore  to  resolve, 
to  conquer  or  to  die. 

3.  Our  own,  our  country's  honour,  calls  Upon  us  for  a  vigor* 
ous  and  manly  exertion ;  and  if  we  now  shamefully  fail,  we 


cobb's  sequel.  105 

shall  become  infamous  to  the  whole  world.  Let  us,  then,  rely- 
on  the  goodness  of  our  cause,  and  the  aid  of  the  Supreme 
Being,  in  whose  hands  victory  is,  to  animate  and  encourage  us 
to  great  and  noble  actions. 

4.  The  eyes  of  all  our  countrymen  are  now  upon  us ;  and 
we  shall  have  their  blessings  and  praises,  if  happily  we  are  the 
instruments  of  saving  them  from  the  tyranny  meditated  against 
them.  Let  us,  therefore,  animate  and  encourage  each  other ; 
and  show  the  whole  world,  that  a  freeman  contending  for  lib- 
erty on  his  own  ground,  is  superiour  to  any  slavish  mercenary 
on  earth. 

5.  Liberty,  property,  life,  and  honour,  are  all  at  stake  ;  upon 
your  courage  and  conduct,  rest  the  hopes  of  our  bleeding  and 
insulted  country ;  our  wives,  children,  and  parents,  expect 
safety  from  us  only ;  and  they  have  every  reason  to  believe, 
that  Heaven  will  crown  with  success  so  just  a  cause. 

6.  The  enemy  will  endeavour  to  intimidate  by  show  and 
appearance ;  but  remember,  they  have  been  repulsed  on  various 
occasions  by  a  few  brave  Americans.  Their  cause  is  bad ; 
their  men  are  conscious  of  it ;  and  if  opposed  with  firmness 
and  coolness  on  their  first  onset,  with  our  advantage  of  works 
and  knowledge  of  the  ground,  the  victory  is  most  assuredly 
ours.  Every  good  soldier  will  be  silent  and  attentive ;  wait  for 
orders ;  and  reserve  his  fire  until  he  is  sure  of  doing  execution. 


LESSON  LXVIII. 

The  Indians. 

1.  There  are  many  traits  of  the  Indian  character  highly 
interesting  to  the  philosopher  and  Christian.  Their  uncon- 
querable attachment  to  their  pristine  modes  and  habits  of  life, 
which  counteracts  every  effort  toward  civilization,  furnishes  to 
the  philosopher  a  problem  too  profound  for  solution. 

2.  Their  simple  and  unadorned  religion,  the  same  in  all  ages, 
and  free  from  the  disguise  of  hypocrisy,  which  they  have 
received,  by  tradition,  from  their  ancestors,  leads  the  mind  to 
a  conclusion,  that  they  possess  an  unwritten  revelation  from 
God,  intended  for  their  benefit,  which  ought  to  induce  us  to 
pause  before  we  undertake  to  convert  them  to  a  more  refined 
and  less  explicit  faith. 

3.  The  religion  of  the  Indian  appears  to  be  fitted  for  that 
state  and  condition  in  which  his  Maker  has  been  pleased  to 


106  cobb's  sequel, 

place  him.  He  believes  in  one  Supreme  Being,  with  all  the 
mighty  attributes  which  we  ascribe  to  God;  whom  he  denomi- 
nates the  Great  and  Good  Spirit,  and  worships  in  a  devout 
manner,  and  from  whom  he  invokes  blessings  on  himself  and 
friends,  and  curses  on  his  enemies. 

4*  Our  Maker  has  left  none  of  his  intelligent  creatures 
without  a  witness  of  himself.  Long  before  the  human  mind  is 
capable  of  a  course  of  metaphysical  reasoning  upon  the  con- 
nexion which  exists  between  cause  and  effect,  a  sense  of  Deity 
is  inscribed  upon  it.  It  is  a  revelation  which  the  Deity  ha? 
made  of  himself  to  man,  and  which  becomes  more  clear  and 
intelligible,  according  to  the  manner  and  degree  in  which  it  is 
improved.  In  the  Indian,  whose  mind  has  never  been  illumined 
by  the  light  of  science,  it  appears  weak  and  obscure. 

5.  Those  moral  and  political  improvements,  which  are  the 
pride  and  boast  of  man  in  polished  society,  and  which  result 
from  mental  accomplishments,  the  savage  views  with  a  jealous 
sense  of  conscious  inferiority.  Neither  his  reason,  nor  his 
invention,  appears  to  have  been  exercised  for  the  high  and 
noble  purposes  of  human  excellence ;  and,  while  he  pertina- 
ciously adheres  to  traditional  prejudices  and  passions,  he  im- 
proves upon  those  ideas  only  which  he  has  received  through 
the  senses. 

6.  Unaided  by  any  other  light  than  that  which  he  has  received 
from  the  Father  of  lights,  the  Indian  penetrates  the  dark  curtain 
which  separates  time  and  eternity,  and  believes  in  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul,  and  the  resurrection  of  the  body,  not  only 
of  all  mankind,  but  of  all  animated  nature,  and  a  state  of  future 
existence,  of  endless  duration.  It  is,  therefore,  their  general 
custom  to  bury  with  the  dead,  their  bows,  arrows,  and  spears, 
that  they  may  be  prepared  to  commence  their  course  in  an- 
other state. 

7.  Man  is  seldom  degraded  so  low,  but  that  he  hopes,  and 
believes,  that  death  will  not  prove  the  extinction  of  his  being. 
Is  this  a  sentiment  resulting  from  our  fears  or  our  passions  ? 
Or,  rather,  is  it  not  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty,  which 
gives  us  this  understanding,  and  which  has  been  imparted  to 
all  the  children  of  men  ?  A  firm  belief  in  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  with  a  devout  sense  of  a  general  superintending  power, 
essentially  supreme,  constitutes  the  fundamental  article  of  the 
Indian's  faith. 

8.  His  reason,  though  never  employed  in  high  intellectual 
attainments  and  exertions,  is  less  corrupted  and  perverted  while 
he  roams  in  his  native  forests,  than  in  an  unrestricted  inter- 
course with  civilized  man.     *    *    *   ..  He  beholds,  in  the  rising 


COBB'S    SEQ.UEL.  107 

sun,  the  manifestation  of  divine  goodness,  and  pursues  the 
chase  with  a  fearless  and  unshaken  confidence  in  the  protec- 
tion of  that  great  and  good  Spirit,  whose  watchful  care  is  over 
ail  his  works. 

9.  Let  us  not,  then,  attribute  his  views  of  an  omniscient 
and  omnipresent  Being  to  the  effect  of  a  sullen  pride  of  inde- 
pendence, and  his  moral  sense  of  right  and  wrong  to  a  heartless 
insensibility.  Deprived,  by  the  peculiarities  of  his  situation, 
of  those  offices  of  kindness  and  tenderness  which  soften  the 
heart,  and  sweeten  the  intercourse  of  life  in  a  civilized  state ; 
we  should  consider  him  a  being  doomed  to  suffer  the  evils  of 
the  strongest  and  most  vigorous  passions,  without  the  consola- 
tion of  those  divine  and  human  virtues  which  dissipate  our 
cares,  and  alleviate  our  sorrows. 

10.  It  is  now  two  hundred  years  since  attempts  have  been 
made,  and  unceasingly  persevered  in,  by  the  pious  and  benevo- 
lent, to  civilize,  and  Christianize,  the  North  American  savage, 
until  millions  of  those  unfortunate  beings,  including  many 
entire  tribes,  have  become  extinct.  The  few  who  remain 
within  the  precincts  of  civilized  society,  stand  as  human  monu- 
ments  of  Gothick  grandeur,  fearful  and  tremulous  amid  the 
revolutions  of  time. 

11.  Neither  the  pride  of  rank,  the  allurements  of  honours, 
nor  the  hopes  of  distinction,  can  afford  to  the  Indian  a  ray  of 
comfort,  or  the  prospect  of  better  days.  He  contemplates  the 
past  as  the  returnless  seasons  of  happiness  and  joy,  and  rushes 
to  the  wilderness  as  a  refuge  from  the  blandishments  of  art, 
and  the  pomp  and  show  of  polished  society,  to  seek,  in  his 
native  solitudes,  the  cheerless  gloom  of  ruin  and  desolation. 

National  (Cincinnati)  Republican, 


LESSON  LXIX. 

Description  of  Winter. 

{By  the  author  of  the  Fall  of  the  Indian.] 

1.       Hark  to  the  voice  of  Winter !     He  hath  laid 
His  grasp  on  the  wilderness,  and  tossed 
The  shivering  garments  of  the  woods  aloft, 
Forth  to  the  warring  elements.     He  rends 
The  venerable  oak,  and  moss  green  pine, 
And  strews  their  splintered  fragments  in  the  dust, 


108  cobb's  sequel. 

2.  Lo  !  on  the  midnight  tempest  he  hath  flung 
His  flowing  mantle,  and  at  morn  the  hills 
Are  sprinkled  with  its  snowy  particles, 
And  field,  and  precipice,  and  cottage  roof. 
He  gives  the  frost  its  message,  and  the  brook 
That  in  the  hollow  valley  runs  its  race, 
Halts  in  its  pebbly  channel,  and  its  face 
Soon  wears  the  fixed  and  stony  gaze  of  death. 

3.  Then  happy  he  who  hath  a  cheerful  home, 
And  blazing  fire,  and  pillow  for  his  head ; 
For  long  and  loud  the  pitiless  tempest  blows, 

And  'gainst  the  door  and  rattling  casement  knocks, 
Or  up  the  chimney  lifts  its  ruffian  voice. 

4.  Yet  beautiful  art  thou,  Winter,  and  thy  reign 
With  many  a  merry  frolick  is  made  glad  ; 

Fair  are  the  woods,  where  bends  the  frozen  bough, 
With  many  a  bright  festoon  and  garland  white, 
And  round  the  knotty  trunk  an  icy  crust 
Of  thick  transparent  ice  is  firmly  clasped. 

5.  Then  on  the  lake,  beneath  the  winter  moon, 
The  skaters  sweep  in  many  a  mazy  ring ; 
And  many  a  loud  tumultuous  shout  is  raised 
As  skips  the  ball  along  the  polished  ice, 

And  down  the  neighbouring  steep  the  boyish  sled 
Cleaves  in  white  furrows  the  unspotted  snow. 


LESSON  LXX. 

Sketch  of  the  History  of  Printing. 

1.  The  business  of  transcribing  the  remains  of  Grecian  and 
Roman  literature  became  a  useful,  an  innocent,  and  a  pleasing 
employ  to  many  of  those,  who,  in  the  dark  ages,  would  else 
have  pined  in  the  listless  languor  of  monastick  retirement. 
Exempt  from  the  avocations  of  civil  life,  incapable  of  literary 
exertion  from  the  want  of  books  and  opportunities  of  improve- 
ment, they  devoted  the  frequent  intervals  of  religious  duty  to 
the  transcription  of  authors  whom  they  often  little  understood. 

2.  The  servile  office  of  a  mere  copyist  was  not  disdained 
by  those  who  knew  not  to  invent ;  and  the  writers  in  the  scrip- 
torium were  inspired  with  an  emulation  to  excel  in  the  beauty 


•  conn's   SEQUEL.  109 

and  variety  of  their  illuminations,  the  fidelity  of  their  copy,  ana* 
the  multitude  of  their  performances. 

3.  But  when  every  letter  of  every  copy  was  to  be  formed 
by  the  immediate  operation  of  the  hand,  the  most  persevering 
assiduity  could  effect  but  little.  The  books  appear  not  to  have 
been  written  with  the  rapidity  of  a  modern  transcriber,  birt 
with  formal  stiffness,  or  a  correct  elegance,  equally  inconsistent 
with  expedition.  They  were,  therefore,  rare,  and  consequently 
much  valued ;  and,  whenever  sold,  were  sold  at  a  great  price, 

4.  Few,  indeed,  but  crowned  and  mitred  heads,  or  incor^ 
porated  communities,  were  able  to  procure  a  number  sufficient 
to  merit  the  appellation  of  a  library ;  and  even  the  boasted 
libraries  of  princes  and  prelates,  were  such  as  are  now  easily 
exceeded  by  every  private  collection. 

5.  To  be  poor,  with  whatever  ability  or  inclination,  was,  at 
one  time,  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to  literary  improvement ; 
and,  perhaps,  we  indulge  an  unreasonable  acrimony  in  our 
general  censure  of  monkish  sloth  and  ignorance,  not  consider- 
ing that  an  involuntary  fault  ceases  to  be  blameable ;  that 
ignorance  is  necessary  where  the  means  of  information  are 
scarce ;  and  that  sloth  is  not  to  be  avoided  where  the  requisites 
of  proper  employment  are  not  attainable  without  great  expense, 
or  earnest  solicitation. 

6.  It  was,  perhaps,  less  with  a  view  to  obviate  these  incon-: 
veniences,  than  from  the  interested  motives  of  deriving  greater 
gain  by  exacting  the  usual  price  for  copies,  multiplied  with  more 
ease  and  expedition,  that  a  new  mode  was  at  length  practised, 
derived  from  the  invention  of  the  art  of  printing ;  a  discovery 
which,  of  all  those  recorded  in  civil  history,  is  of  the  most 
important  and  extensive  consequence. 

7.  That  the  first  productions  of  the  press  were  intended  to 
pass  for  manuscripts,  we  are  led  to  conclude  from  the  resem- 
blance of  the  type  to  the  written  characters,  from  the  omission 
of  illuminations,  which  were  to  be  supplied  by  the  pen  to  facili-r 
tate  the  deception,  and  from  the  inventor's  concealment  of  his 
process,  so  far  as  to  incur  suspicion  of  witchcraft  or  magick,  by 
which  alone  the  first  observers  could  account  for  the  extraor-r 
dinary  multiplication  of  the  transcripts. 

8.  But  the  deceit  was  soon  detected.  The  perfect  resem- 
blance in  the  shape  of  the  letters,  in  the  place  and  number  of 
the  words  on  every  page ;  the  singular  correctness,  and,  above 
all,  the  numerous  copies  of  the  same  author,  inevitably  led  to 
a  discovery  of  the  truth. 

9.  To  conceal  it,  indeed,  was  no  longer  desired,  when  experi? 
£nce  had  suggested  the  great  lucrative  advantages,  and  the 

10 


110  cobb's  sequel. 

practicability  of  multiplying  books,  without  end,  by  the  process 
newly  invented.  It  soon  appeared,  though  it  was  not  obvious 
at  first,  that  the  new  mode  would  be  more  agreeable  to  the 
reader,  as  well  as  easier  to  the  copyist,  and  that  printed  books 
would  universally  supersede  the  use  of  manuscripts,  from  a 
choice  founded  on  judicious  preference. 

10.  The  art  was  soon  professed  as  a  trade ;  and  the  business 
of  copying,  which  had  once  afforded  only  amusement  or  gain 
to  the  curious  and  the  idle,  became  the  constant  employment 
and  support  of  a  numerous  tribe  of  artisans,  and  constituted  a 
very  considerable  source  of  mercantile  advantage. 

11.  Of  an  art,  which,  though  it  had  yet  acquired  but  small 
degrees  of  perfection,  appeared  of  most  extensive  utility  in 
religion,  in  politicks,  in  literature,  and  even  in  commerce,  no 
labour  has  been  spared  to  investigate  the  history ;  but,  unfor- 
tunately, the  inquirers  into  the  origin  of  arts,  instigated  by  the 
zeal  of  minute  curiosity  to  push  their  researches  too  far,  often 
discover  them  so  rude,  obvious,  and  inartificial  at  their  com- 
mencement, as  to  reflect  very  little  honour  on  those  whom  they 
ostentatiously  exhibit  as  the  earliest  inventors. 

12.  Such  has  been  the  result  of  the  investigations  of  those, 
who,  dissatisfied  with  the  commonly  received  opinions  on  the 
date  of  the  invention  of  printing,  pretend  to  have  discovered 
traces  of  it,  many  years  before  the  first  production  of  Faustus, 
in  1457 ;  and  it  is  true,  that  the  Speculum  Salutis,  and  a  few 
other  books  are  extant,  which  are,  on  good  reasons,  judged  to 
have  been  stamped,  not  printed  agreeable  to  the  rules  of  art, 
long  before  the  erection  of  a  press  at  Mentz. 

13.  But  the  mode  in  which  they  were  executed,  like  the  Chi- 
nese, bears  but  little  resemblance  to  the  art  of  printing,  properly 
so  called ;  it  appears  not,  by  any  historical  memoir,  to  have 
suggested  the  first  hint  of  it,  and  is  too  imperfect  to  deserve 
notice  as  even  the  infant  state  of  this  momentous  invention. 

14.  National  pride,  like  the  pride  of  individuals,  is  often 
founded  on  slight  or  dubious  pretensions.  Thus  have  Germany 
and  Holland  contended,  with  all  the  warmth  of  party,  for  the 
imaginary  honour  of  giving  birth  to  the  inventor  of  printing ; 
who,  after  all,  was  probably  led  to  the  discovery,  not  by  the 
enlarged  views  of  publick  utility,  but  by  fortunate  circum- 
stances, concurring  with  the  desire  of  private  and  pecuniary 
advantage. 

15.  But,  though  the  history  of  printing,  like  all  other  his- 
tories, is  in  some  degree  obscure  and  doubtful  at  its  earliest 
period ;  though  Strasburg  has  boasted  of  Mentel,  and  Haar- 
tem  of  Coster,  as  the  inventor ;  yet  is  there  great  reason  to 


cobb's  sequel.  Ill 

conclude,  that  the  few  arguments  advanced  in  their  favour  are 
supported  only  by  forgery  and  falsehood :  and  we  may  safely 
assert,  with  the  majority  of  writers,  and  with  the  general  voice 
of  Europe,  that  the  time  of  the  invention  was  about  the  year 
1440,  the  place  Mentz,  and  the  persons  Gutenburg,  Faustus, 
and  Schaeffer,  in  conjunction. — V.  Knox. 


LESSON  LXXI. 
The  Rose. 

1.  The  rose  liad  been  washed,  just  washed  in  a  shower, 

Which  Mary  to  Anna  conveyed  ; 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumbered  the  flower, 
And  weighed  down  its  beautiful  head. 

2.  The  cup  was  all  filled,  and  the  leaves  were  all  wet, 

And  it  seemed  to  a  fanciful  view, 
To  weep  for  the  buds  it  had  left  with  regret, 
On  the  flourishing  bush  where  it  grew. 

3.  I  hastily  seized  it,  unfit  as  it  was 

For  a  nosegay,  so  dripping  and  drowned ; 
And  swinging  it  rudely,  too  rudely,  alas ! 
I  snapped  it,  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

4.  And  such,  I  exclaimed,  is  the  pitiless  part, 

Some  act  by  the  delicate  mind, 
Regardless  of  wringing  and  breaking  a  heart, 
Already  to  sorrow  resigned. 

5.  This  elegant  rose,  had  I  shaken  it  less, 

Might  have  bloomed  with  its  owner  awhile  : 
And  the  tear  that  is  wiped  with  a  little  address, 
May  be  followed  perhaps  by  a  smile. — Cowper. 


LESSON  LXXII. 

Schemes  of  Life  often  Elusory. 

1.  Omar,  the  son  of  Hassan,  had  passed  seventy-five  years 
in  honour  and  prosperity.  The  favour  of  three  successive 
califs  had  filled  his  house  with  gold  and  silver ;  and  whenever 


112  cobb's  sequel* 

he  appeared,  the  benedictions  of  the  people  proclaimed  hid 
passage. 

2.  Terrestrial  happiness  is  of  short  continuance.  The 
brightness  of  the  flame  is  wasting  its  fuel ;  the  fragrant  flower 
is  passing  away  in  its  own  odours.  The  vigour  of  Omar  began 
to  fail ;  the  curls  of  beauty  fell  from  hig  head ;  strength  departed 
from  his  hands,  and  agility  from  his  feet.  He  gave  back  to  the 
calif  the  keys  of  trust,  and  the  s'eals  of  secrecy ;  and  sought  no 
other  pleasure  for  the  remains  of  life,  than  the  converse  of  the 
wise*  and  the  gratitude  of  the  good. 

3i  The  powers  of  his  mind  were  yet  unimpaired.  His  cham- 
ber was  filled  by  visitants,  eager  to  catch  the  dictates  of  expe- 
rience, and  officious  to  pay  the  tribute  of  admiration.  Calid, 
the  son  of  the  viceroy  of  Egypt,  entered  every  day  early*  and 
retired  late ;  he  was  beautiful  and  eloquent.  Omar  admired  his 
wit,  and  loved  his  docility.  "  Tell  me,"  said  Calid,  "  thou  to 
whose  voice  nations  have  listened,  and  whose  wisdom  is  known 
to  the  extremities  of  Asia,  tell  me  how  I  may  resemble  Omar* 
the  prudent.  The  arts  by  which  thou  hast  gained  power  and 
preserved  it,  are  to  thee  no  longer  necessary  or  useful ;  impart 
to  me  the  secret  of  thy  conduct*  and  teach  me  the  plart  upon 
which  thy  wisdom  has  built  thy  fortune." 

4*  "  Young  man*"  said  Omar,  "  it  is  of  little  use  to  forth 
plans  of  life.  When  I  took  my  first  survey  of  the  world,  in  my 
twentieth  year*  having  considered  the  various  conditions  of 
mankind,  in  an  hour  of  solitude,  I  said  thus  to  myself,  leaning 
against  a  cedar,  which  spread  its  branches  over  my  head, 
seventy  years  are  allowed  to  man ;  I  have  yet  fifty  remaining ; 
ten  years  I  will  allot  to  the  attainment  of  knowledge,  and  teti  I 
will  pass  in  foreign  countries. 

5.  "I  shall  be  learned,  and  therefore  shall  be  honoured;  every 
city  will  shout  at  my  arrival,  and  every  student  will  solicit  my 
friendship.  Twenty  years  thus  passed,  will  store  my  mind  with 
images,t  which  I  shall  be  busy,  through  the  rest  of  my  life,  in 
combining  and  comparing.  I  shall  revel  in  inexhaustible  accu- 
mulations of  intellectual  riches ;  I  shall  find  new  pleasures  for 
every  moment ;  and  shall  never  more  be  weary  of  myself. 

6»  "I  will  not,  however,  deviate  too  far  from  the  beaten 
track  of  life ;  but  will  try  what  can  be  found  in  female  delicacy. 
I  will  marry  a  wife  beautiful  as  the  Houries,  and  wise  as 
Zobeide  :  with  her  I  will  live  twenty  years  within  the  suburbs 
of  Bagdad,  in  every  pleasure  that  wealth  can  purchase,  and 
fancy  can  invent.  I  will  then  retire  to  a  rural  dwelling,  pass  my 
days  in  obscurity  and  contemplation,  and  lie  silently  down  on 
the  bed  of  death.     Through  my  life  it  shall  be  my  settled 


cobb's  sequel.  113 

resolution,  that  I  will  never  depend  upon  the  smiles  of  princes ; 
that  I  will  never  stand  exposed  to  the  artifices  of  courts ;  I  will 
never  pant  for  publick  honours,  nor  disturb  my  quiet  with  the 
affairs  of  state.  Such  was  my  scheme  of  life,  which  I  im- 
pressed indelibly  upon  my  memory. 

7.  "  The  first  part  of  my  ensuing  time  was  to  be  spent  in 
search  of  knowledge,  and  I  know  not  how  I  was  diverted  from 
my  design.  I  had  no  visible  impediments  without,  nor  any 
ungovernable  passions  within.  I  regarded  knowledge  as  the 
hignest  honour,  and  the  most  engaging  pleasure ;  yet  day  stole 
upon  day,  and  month  glided  after  month,  till  1  found  that  seven 
years  of  the  first  ten  had  vanished,  and  left  nothing  behind  them. 

8.  "  I  now  postponed  my  purpose  of  travelling ;  for  why 
should  I  go  abroad  while  so  much  remained  to  be  learned  at 
home  ?  I  immured  myself  for  four  years,  and  studied  the  laws 
of  the  empire.  The  fame  of  my  skill  reached  the  judges  ;  I  was 
found  able  to  speak  upon  doubtful  questions ;  and  was  com- 
manded to  stand  at  the  footstool  of  the  calif.  I  was  heard  with 
attention ;  I  was  consulted  with  confidence ;  and  the  love  of 
praise  fastened  on  my  heart. 

9.  "  I  still  wished  to  see  distant  countries ;  listened  with 
rapture  to  the  relations  of  travellers  ;  and  resolved  some  time 
to  ask  my  dismission,  that  I  might  feast  my  soul  with  novelty : 
but  my  presence  was  always  necessary ;  and  the  stream  of 
business  hurried  me  along.  Sometimes  I  was  afraid  lest  I 
should  be  charged  with  ingratitude :  but  I  still  proposed  to 
travel,  and  therefore  would  not  confine  myself  by  marriage. 

10.  "  In  my  fiftieth  year,  I  began  to  suspect  that  the  time  of 
travelling  was  past ;  and  thought  it  best  to  lay  hold  on  the 
felicity  yet  in  my  power,  and  indulge  myself  in  domestick 
pleasures.  But  at  fifty  no  man  easily  finds  a  woman  beautiful 
as  the  Houries,  and  wise  as  Zobeide.  I  inquired  and  rejected, 
consulted  and  deliberated,  till  the  sixty-second  year  made  me 
ashamed  of  wishing  to  marry.  I  had  now  nothing  left  but 
retirement ;  and  for  retirement  I  never  found  a  time,  till  disease 
forced  me  from  publick  employment. 

11.  "  Such  was  my  scheme,  and  such  has  been  its  conse- 
quence. With  an  insatiable  thirst  for  knowledge,  I  trifled 
away  the  years  of  improvement ;  with  a  restless  desire  of  seeing 
different  countries,  I  have  always  resided  in  the  same  city; 
with  the  highest  expectation  of  connubial  felicity,  I  have  lived 
unmarried ;  and  with  unalterable  resolutions  of  contemplative 
retirement,  I  am  going  to  die  within  the  walls  of  Bagdad." 

Dr.  Johnson. 
10# 


114  COBB'S   SEQUEL* 


LESSON  LXXIII. 


Death  of  Prince  William. 

1.  Henry  I.,  king  of  England,  had  a  son  Called  William,  a 
brave  and  active  youth,  who  was  arrived  at  his  eighteenth  year. 
The  king  loved  him  most  tenderly,  and  took  care  to  have  him 
recognised  as  his  successor  by  the  states  of  England ;  and  car- 
ried him  over  to  Normandy,  in  the  North  of  France,  to  receive 
the  homage  of  the  barons  of  that  dutchy. 

%  Having  performed  the  requisite  ceremony,  the  king  set 
sail  for  England,  accompanied  by  a  splendid  retinue  of  the 
principal  nobility.  William,  his  son,  was  detained  by  some 
accident  for  several  hours ;  and  the  crew  having  spent  the 
interval  in  drinking,  became  so  intoxicated  that  they  ran  the 
ship  upon  a  rock,  and  it  was  immediately  dashed  to  pieces. 

3.  The  prince  was  put  into  a  boat*  and  might  have  escaped 
had  he  not  been  called  back  by  the  cries  of  his  sister*  He 
prevailed  upon  the  sailors  to  row  back  and  take  her  in ;  but  no 
sooner  had  the  boat  approached  the  wreck,  than  numbers,  who 
had  been  left,  jumped  into  it*  and  the  whole  were  drowned* 
King  Henry,  when  he  heard  of  the  death  of  his  son,  fainted 
fcway ;  and  from  that  moment,  he  never  smiled  again% 


LESSON  LX&IV. 
He  Never  Smiled  Again* 

i»  The  bark  that  held  a  prince  went  dowiii 

The  sweeping  waves  rolled  on* 
And  what  was  England's  glorious  crown 

To  him  that  wept  a  sonf 
lie  lived,  for  life  may  long  be  borne 

Ere  sorrow  break  its  chain ; 
Why  comes  not  death  to  those  who  mourn  T 

He  never  smiled  again. 

%.  There  stood  proud  forms  around  his  throne* 
The  stately,  and  the  brave ; 
j&ut  which  could  fill  the  place  of  one  ? 
That  one  beneath  the  wave. 


fcOBB's    SEQUEL  115 

Before  him  passed  the  young  and  fair, 

In  pleasure's  reckless  train ; 
But  seas  dashed  o'er  his  son's  bright  hair; 

He  never  smiled  again. 

8.  He  sat  where  festal  bowls  went  round ; 

He  heard  the  minstrel  sing ; 
lie  saw  the  tourney's  victor  crowned, 

Amid  the  knightly  ring. 
A  murmur  of  the  restless  deep 

Was  blent  with  every  strain  ; 
A  voice  of  winds  that  would  not  sleep ; 

He  never  smiled  again. 

4.  Hearts  in  that  time  closed  o'er  the  trace 

Of  vows  once  fondly  poured : 
And  strangers  took  the  kinsman  s  place 

At  many  a  joyous  board. 
Graves  which  true  love  had  bathed  with  teaity 

Were  left  to  heaven's  bright  rain ; 
Fresh  hopes  were  born  for  other^  years ; 

He  never  Smiled  again. — Mrs.  HemAns. 


LESSON  LXXV. 

Attrdttion, 

i.  Attraction  is  that  property  of  matter  by  which  bodied 
and  their  parts  tend  to  approximate  and  to  unite  with  each 
other.  Though  we  know  not  the  cause  of  attraction,  we  can 
discover  its  effects,  viz.  in  the  cohesion  of  the  particles  of  bodies* 
and  in  the  tendency  of  bodies,  generally,  to  fall  toward  th^ 
earth.  There  are  several  kinds  of  attraction ;  as,  the  attraction 
of  cohesion,  of  gravitation,  of  electricity,  of  magnetism,  and 
chymical  attraction.  It  is,  however,  only  with  the  attraction 
iof  cohesion  and  gravitation  that  we  are  at  present  concerned. 

2.  "  The  attraction  of  cohesion  is  that  by  which  the  con- 
stituent particles  of  bodies  are  kept  together.  By  this  principle 
they  preserve  their  forms  and  are  prevented  from  falling  to 
pieces."  This  attraction  takes  place  between  bodies  only  when 
they  are  very  near  to  each  other,  apparently  in  contact.  Thus, 
when  two  drops  of  water  or  other  fluid  be  placed  near  each 
other,  they  will  run  together  and  form  one  large  drop*    If 


116  COBB's    SEQ.UEL. 

pieces  of  lead,  plates  of  glass,  or  other  bodies,  having  a»smooth, 
flat  surface,  be  pressed  closely  together,  they  will  adhere  so 
firmly  as  to  require  a  considerable  force  to  separate  them. 

3.  "  It  is  probably  owing  to  the  various  degrees  of  cohesion 
that  some  bodies  are  hard,  and  others  soft ;  that  some  are  in  a 
solid,  others  in  a  fluid  state."  Those  bodies  whose  particles 
are  most  intimately  united,  cohere  with  the  greatest  force  and 
exhibit  the  most  indissoluble  texture,  the  most  unyielding 
tenacity.  Heat  has  a  considerable  influence  upon  the  cohesive 
powers  of  bodies ;  and,  if  increased  to  a  certain  degree,  it  will 
throw  the  particles  of  bodies  out  of  the  sphere  of  each  other's 
attraction.  Thus,  the  particles  of  water  cohere ;  but  when 
heated  so  as  to  boil,  they  go  off  in  steam.  The  same  is  observa- 
ble of  other  bodies. 

4.  "  It  is  the  attraction  of  cohesion  which  restores  to  steam 
and  to  vapour  its  liquid  form ;  which  unites  into  drops  of  rain 
the  misty  particles  of  the  dissolving  clouds ;  which,  also,  col- 
lects from  the  humid  atmosphere  that  moisture  which  settles 
in  the  form  of  dew."  The  terms  cohesive,  adhesive,  and  capil- 
lary attraction,  are,  in  many  instances,  used  indiscriminately ; 
though  the  two  latter  are  used  in  a  more  restricted  sense. 
Adhesion  denotes  that  attraction  which  exists  between  con- 
tiguous particles  of  different  bodies  ;  and  capillary  attraction, 
that  power  by  which  fluids  are  attracted  up  capillary  tubes. 

5.  Water  will  ascend  small  capillary  tubes  nearly  or  quite  to 
the  top.  It  will  also  ascend  the  pores  of  a  sponge,  or  any 
other  porous  substance,  which  is  caused  by  the  water's  being 
attracted  by  that  substance.  It  is  probably  by  this  power  that 
the  watery  juices  are  made  to  ascend  the  pores  of  vegetables, 
and  also,  that  water  is  drawn  to  the  tops  of  the  highest  moun- 
tains, from  which  it  issues  in  springs  and  flows  down.  The 
attraction  of  gravitation  is  that  force  by  which  bodies  at  a  dis- 
tance are  drawn  toward  each  other ;  though,  in  a  more  restricted 
sense,  it  is  used  to  express  that  force  by  which  all  bodies  near 
the  surface  of  the  earth  are  drawn  toward  its  centre. 

6.  The  attraction  of  gravitation  operates  on  bodies  or  col- 
lective masses  of  matter ;  whereas  cohesion  takes  place  chiefly 
between  particles  of  the  same  body.  Gravitation  takes  place 
between  all  bodies,  though  ever  so  remote  from  each  other ; 
while  cohesion  affects  such  only  as  are  near  and  apparently 
contiguous.  Although  gravitation  acts  upon  all  the  particles 
of  bodies,  as  well  as  on  the  collective  masses,  yet  bodies  of  a 
hard  or  solid  form,  by  means  of  their  cohesion,  so  far  resist  the 
effects  of  gravitation  as  to  retain  their  figure. 


COfiB  S    SEQtfEt.  lit 

')'.  As  all  the  particles  of  bodies  possess  attraction,  the  more 
particles  exist  in  a  given  body  the  greater  will  be  its  attracting 
power.  Hence  it  appears,  that  the  attractive  power  of  any 
body  is  proportional  to  its  quantity  of  matter.  The  earth  con- 
sisting of  a  much  greater  quantity  of  matter  than  any  body  in 
its  vicinity,  the  force  of  its  attraction  must,  of  course,  far  exceed 
that  of  any  body  on  or  near  its  surface.  Consequently,  bodies 
near  the  earth,  if  unsupported,  fall  to  the  gfound. 

8.  Bodies  near  the  earth's  surface,  if  supported,  press  upon 
the  object  which  prevents  their  fall  with  a  force  equal  to  thai 
with  which  they  gravitate  toward  the  earth.  This  force,  or 
downward  tendency  of  a  body,  is  usually  termed  its  weight, 
and  is  proportional  to  its  quantity  of  matter.  Though  all  bodies* 
at  a  given  distance,  attract  each  other  with  a  force  directly  pro* 
portional  to  the  quantity  of  matter  or  numbed  of  particles  they 
contain,  yet,  this  force,  in  bodies  of  a  given  quantity,  varies 
according  to  their  distances.  The  nearer  bodies  approach  each 
other  the  more  powerfully  they  attract. 

9.  Hence  it  is  found,  that  the  power  of  gravity  is  greatest  at 
the  surface  of  the  earth ;  that  bodies  high  in  the  atmosphere 
are  acted  upon  less  the  farther  they  are  removed  from  its 
surface.  It  has  also  been  proved,  that  the  force  of  gravity 
diminishes  downward  from  the  earth's  Surface  to  its  centre, 
where  it  is  nothing.  By  the  power  of  gravitation  all  bodies 
elevated  above  the  earth  will,  if  not  supported  by  other  bodies, 
fall  to  its  surface  in  a  direct  course  toward  its  centre.  By  the 
same  power  all  bodies  on  the  earth,  having  a  tendency  toward 
its  centre,  are  kept  steady  on  its  surface. 

10.  Though  it  must  require  a  greater  attractive  force  to  move 
a  large  mass  of  matter  than  a  smaller  one,  yet  each  mass,  being 
attracted  by  a  force  exactly  proportional  to  its  quantity*  will  be 
equally  impelled  by  such  force.  Hence,  all  bodies  at  equal 
distances  from  the  earth  will  fall  with  equal  velocities.  It  was, 
indeed,  formerly  thought  that  smoke,  steam,  &CM  possessed  no 
Weight,  no  gravitating  powers;  but  later  experiments  have 
shown  that  these  are  equally  obedient  to  the  general  law  as 
bodies  more  dense,  and  that  it  is  owing  to  the  density  of  the 
atmosphere  that  such  light  bodies  ascend,  or  are  prevented 
from  falling. 

11.  Were  falling  bodies  moved  only  by  one  impulse  from 
attraction,  the  power  of  gravity  not  continuing  to  act  on  thern 
during  their  descent,  they  would  fall,  from  whatever  height, 
witli  the  same  equable  or  uniform  motion  through  their  whole 
course,  passing  through  equal  spaces  in  equal  times.  But 
falling  bodies  do  not  move  in  this  manner.     They  fall  with 


118  cobb's  sequel* 

accelerated,  i.  e.  continually  increased  velocities.  "This  accel- 
erated motion  is  produceu  by  the  constant  action  of  gravity, 
which,  by  adding  a  new  impulse  at  every  instant,  gives  an 
additional  velocity  every  particle  of  time." 

12.  Bodies  thrown  perpendicularly  upward  move  with  a 
retarded  velocity  :  the  same  gravity  which  would  accelerate 
their  descent  retards  their  motion  upward,  till,  overcoming  the 
force  with  which  they  were  thrown  up,  they  will  return  to  the 
earth  in  a  length  of  time  equal  to  that  of  their  ascent.  As  all 
bodies  gravitate  toward  the  earth,  so  the  earth  itself  gravitates 
equally  towards  all  bodies.  We  do  not,  indeed,  see  it  moving 
towards  falling  bodies,  because  the  earth,  being  immensely  lar- 
ger than  any  bodies  on  its  surface,  its  motion  must  be  infinitely 
small  in  comparison  with  theirs. 

13.  "It  is  observable  that  though  bodies  gravitate  toward 
the  earth's  centre-,  it  is  not  any  thing  at  the  centre  that  causes 
this  attraction.  The  whole  mass  of  the  earth  is  the  attracting 
body,  and  the  cause  of  weight.  Gravity  is  a  universal  princi- 
ple :  it  is  that  which,  in  the  hands  of  the  Creator,  first  formed, 
and  still  maintains  the  earth  in  a  globular  shape :  it  is  that 
which  preserves  every  thing,  animate  and  inanimate,  on  its 
surface." 

14.  It  is  this  attraction  of  gravitation,  distributed  through 
the  planetary  world,  that  keeps  all  those  large  bodies  in  their 
proper  orbits,  and  preserves  them  from  running  into  disorder. 
This  evidently  manifests  the  wisdom  of  God  in  the  plan  of  the 
universe.  Nothing  less  than  infinite  Wisdom  could  have  in- 
vented this  plan,  and  nothing  less  than  almighty  Power  could 
have  put  it  in  operation. — Juvenile  Philosopher. 


LESSON  LXXVI. 

America. 

1.  Here  the  free  spirit  of  mankind  at  length 
Throws  its  last  fetters  off;  and  who  shall  place 
A  limit  to  the  giant's  unchained  strength, 
Or  curb  his  swiftness  in  the  forward  race. 
For,  like  the  comet's  way  through  infinite  space, 
Stretches  the  long  untravelled  path  of  light 
Into  the  depths  of  ages :  we  may  trace, 
Afar,  the  brightening  glory  of  its  flight, 

Till  the  receding  rays  are  lost  to  human  sight. 


COBIi'o    SEQUEL.  119 

2.  Europe  is  given  a  prey  to  sterner  fates, 

And  writhes  in  shackles  ;  strong  the  arms  that  chain 
To  earth  her  struggling  multitude  of  states ; 
She  too  is  strong,  and  might  not  chafe  in  vain 
Against  them,  but  shake  off  the  vampire  train 
That  batten  on  her  blood,  and  break  their  net. 
Yes,  she  shall  look  on  brighter  days,  and  gain 
The  meed  of  worthier  deeds ;  the  moment  set 
To  rescue  and  raise  up,  draws  near,  but  is  not  yet. 

3.  But  thou,  my  country,  thou  shalt  never  fall, 
But  with  thy  children  ;  thy  maternal  care, 
Thy  lavish  love,  thy  blessings  showered  on  all ; 
These  are  thy  fetters  ;  seas  and  stormy  air 
Are  the  wide  barrier  of  thy  borders,  where 
Among  thy  gallant  sons  that  guard  thee  well, 
Thou  laughest  at  enemies  :  who  shall  then  declare 
The  date  of  thy  deep-founded  strength,  or  tell 

How  happy,  in  thy  lap,  the  sons  of  men  shall  dwell. 

Bryant, 


LESSON  LXXVII. 

The  Torrid  and  Frigid  Zones. 

1.  How  oblique  and  faintly  looks  the  sun  on  yonder  climates, 
far  removed  from  him  !  How  tedious  are  the  winters  there  ! 
How  deep  the  horrours  of  the  night,  and  how  uncomfortable 
even  the  light  of  day !  The  freezing  winds  employ  their 
fiercest  breath,  yet  are  not  spent  with  blowing.  The  sea, 
which  elsewhere  is  scarce  confined  within  its  limits,  lies  here 
immured  in  walls  of  crystal. 

2.  The  snow  covers  the  hills,  and  almost  fills  the  lowest  val- 
leys. How  wide  and  deep  it  lies,  incumbent  over  the  plains, 
hiding  the  sluggish  rivers,  the  shrubs,  and  trees,  the  dens  of 
beasts,  and  mansions  of  distressed  and  feeble  men !  See ! 
where  they  lie  confined,  hardly  secure  against  the  raging  cold, 
or  the  attacks  of  the  wild  beasts,  now  masters  of  the  wasted 
field,  and  forced  by  hunger  out  of  the  naked  woods. 

3.  Yet,  not  disheartened,  (such  is  the  force  of  human  breasts,) 
but  thus  provided  for,  by  art  and  prudence,  the  kind,  compen- 
sating gifts  of  Heaven,  men  and  their  herds  may  wait  for  a 
release.     For  at  length  the  sun,  approaching,  melts  the  snow, 


120  OOBB?S    SV'^UEL. 

pets  longing  men  at  liberty,  and  affords  them  means  and  tima 
to  make  provision  against  the  next  return  of  cold. 

4.  It  breaks  the  icy  fetters  of  the  main ;  where  vast  sea- 
monsters  pierce  through  floating  islands,  with  arms  which  can 
withstand  the  crystal  rock ;  while  others,  who,  of  themselves, 
seem  great  as  islands,  are  by  their  bulk  alone  armed  against  all 
but  man  ;  whose  superiority  over  creatures  of  such  stupendous 
size  and  force,  should  make  him  mindful  of  his  privilege  of 
reason,  and  force  him  humbly  to  adore  the  great  Composer 
of  these  wondrous  frames,  and  Author  of  his  own  superiour 
wisdom. 

5.  But,  leaving  these  dull  climates,  so  little  favoured  by  the 
sun,  for  those  happier  regions  on  which  he  looks  more  kindly, 
making  perpetual  summer,  how  great  an  alteration  do  we  find  ! 
His  purer  light  confounds  weak-sighted  mortals,  pierced  by  his 
scorching  beams.  Scarce  can  they  tread  the  glowing  ground, 
The  air  they  breathe  cannot  enough  abate  the  fire  which  burns 
within  their  panting  breasts.  Their  bodies  melt.  Overcome 
and  fainting,  they  seek  the  shade,  and  wait  the  cool  refresh? 
ments  of  the  night.  Yet  oft  the  bounteous  Creator  bestows 
other  refreshments.  He  casts  a  veil  of  clouds  before  them,  and 
raises  gentle  gales ;  favoured  by  which  the  men  and  beasts 
pursue  their  labours ;  and  plants,  refreshed  by  dews  and  showers, 
can  gladly  hear  the  warmest  sunbeams. — Shaftesbury, 


WESSON  LXXVIIJ, 
Religion, 

1.  We  pity  a  man  who  has  no  religion  in  his  heart,  no  high  and 
irresistible  yearnings  after  a  better,  holier  existence;  who -is 
contented  with  the  sensuality  and  grossness  of  earth ;  whose 
spirit  never  revolts  at  the  darkness  of  his  prison  house,  nor 
exalts  at  the  thought  of  its  final  emancipation.  We  pity  him, 
for  he  affords  no  evidence  of  his  high  origin,  no  manifestation 
of  that  intellectual  prerogative  which  renders  him  a  delegated 
lord  of  the  visible  creation. 

2.  He  can  rank  no  higher  than  animal  nature ;  the  spiritual 
could  never  stoop  so  lowly.  To  seek  for  beastly  excitements ; 
to  minister  with  a  bountiful  hand  to  strange  and  depraved  appe« 
tites,  are  the  attributes  of  the  animal  alone.  To  limit  our  hopes 
and  aspirations  to  this  life  and  world,  is  like  remaining  for  eye? 


cobb's  sequel.  121 

in  the  place  of  our  birth,  without  ever  lifting  the  veil  of  th® 
horizon  which  bent  over  our  infancy. 

3.  There  is  religion  in  every  thing  around  us,  a  calm  and 
holy  religion  in  the  unbreathing  things  of  nature,  which  man 
would  do  well  to  imitate.  It  is  a  meek  and  blessed  influence, 
stealing,  as  it  were,  unawares  upon  the  heart.  It  comes,  it  has 
no  terrour ;  no  gloom  in  its  approaches.  It  has  to  rouse  up 
the  passions ;  it  is  untrammelled  by  the  creeds,  and  unshadowed 
by  the  superstitions  of  man. 

4.  It  is  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  Author ;  and  growing 
from  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Great  Spirit  which  per- 
vades and  quickens  it.  It  looks  out  from  every  star.  It  is 
among  the  hills  and  valleys  of  earth;  where  the  shrubless 
mountain-top  pierces  the  thin  atmosphere  of  eternal  winter ; 
or  where  the  mighty  frost  fluctuates  before  the  strong  wind, 
with  its  dark  waves  of  green  foliage. 

h.  It  is  spread  out  like  a  legible  language  upon  the  broad 
face  of  the  unsleeping  ocean.  It  is  the  poetry  of  nature.  It 
is  that  uplifts  the  spirit  within  it,  until  it  is  tall  enough  to  over- 
look the  shadows  of  our  place  of  probation,  which  breaks,  link 
after  link,  the  chains  that  bind  us  to  mortality;  and  which 
opens  to  imagination  a  world  of  spiritual  beauty  and  holiness, 

Sir  Humphry  Davy, 


LESSON  LXXIX. 

Rural  Charms, 

1.  Sweet  Auburn!  loveliest  village  of  the  plain! 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheer   the  labouring  swain ; 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visits  paid, 

And  parting  summer's  ling'ring  blooms  delayed ; 

Dear  lovely  bow'rs  of  innocence  and  ease ! 

Seats  of  my  youth,  when  ev'ry  sport  could  please ! 

2.  How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene ! 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm, 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 

The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The  decent  church  that  topped  the  neighbouring  hill ; 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whimpering  lovers  made. 
11 


122  cobk's  sequel. 

3.  How  often  have  I  blessed  the  coming  day, 
When  toil,  remitting,  lent  its  turn  to  play ; 
And  all  the  village  train,  from  labour  free, 
Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree ! 
While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 
The  young  contending  as  the  old  surveyed ! 
And  many  a  gambol  frolicked  o'er  the  ground, 

And  slights  of  art,  and  feats  of  strength  went  round ; 
And  still  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired : 

4.  The  dancing  pair,  that  simply  sought  renown, 
By  holding  out,  to  tire  each  other  down ; 
The  swain,  mistrustless  of  his  smutted  face, 
While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place ; 
The  bashful  virgin's  sidelong  looks  of  love ; 

The  matron's  glance,  that  would  those  looks  reprove* 

5.  Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft,  at  evening^  close* 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose* 

There,  as  I  passed  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below. 

6.  The  swain,  responsive  as  the  milk-maid  sung ; 
The  sober  herd,  that  lowed  to  meet  her  young ; 
The  noisy  geese,  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool ; 
The  playful  children,  just  let  loose  from  school ; 

The  watch-dog's  voice,  that  bayed  the  whisp'ring  wind } 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spoke  the  vacant  mind : 
These  all,  in  soft  confusion,  sought  the  shade, 
And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 

Goldsmith, 


LESSON  LXXX. 

Washington's  Love  to  his  Mother. 

1.  Immediately  after  the  organization  of  the  present  govern- 
ment, General  Washington  repaired  to  Fredericksburg  to  pay 
his  humble  duty  to  his  mother,  preparatory  to  his  departure 
for  New  York.  An  affecting  scene  ensued.  The  son  feelingly 
remarked  the  ravages  which  a  torturing  disease  had  made  upon 
the  aged  frame  of  his  mother,  and  thus  addressed  her ; 


cobb's  sequel,  123 

$.  "  The  people,  madam,  have  been  pleased,  with  the  most 
flattering  unanimity,  to  elect  me  to  the  chief  magistracy  of  these 
United  States ;  but  before  I  can  assume  the  functions  of  my 
office,  I  have  come  to  bid  you  an  affectionate  farewell.  So 
soon  as  the  publick  business,  which  must  necessarily  be  encoun- 
tered in  arranging  a  new  government,  can  be  disposed  of,  I 
will  hasten  to  Virginia,  and" — 

3.  Here  the  matron  interrupted.  "My  son,  you  will  see 
me  no  more.  My  great  age,  and  the  disease  which  is  fast 
approaching  my  vitals,  warn  me  that  I  shall  not  be  long  of  the 
world.  I  trust  in  God  I  am  somewhat  prepared  for  a  better. 
But  go,  George,  fulfil  the  high  destinies  which  Heaven  appears 
to  assign  you:  go,  my  son,  and  may  that  Heaven's,  and  your 
mother's  blessing,  be  with  you  always." 

4.  The  president  was  deeply  affected.  His  head  rested  upon 
the  shoulder  of  his  parent,  whose  aged  arm  feebly,  yet  fondly, 
encircled  his  neck.  That  brow,  on  which  fame  had  wreathed 
the  purest  laurel  virtue  ever  gave  to  created  man,  relaxed  from 
its  lofty  bearing.  That  look  which  could  have  awed  a  Roman 
senate  in  its  Fabrician  day,  was  bent  in  filial  tenderness  upon 
the  time-worn  features  of  the  venerable  matron. 

5.  The  great  man  wept.  A  thousand  recollections  crowded 
upon  his  mind,  as  memory,  retracing  scenes  long  past,  carried 
him  back  to  the  paternal  mansion,  and  the  days  of  his  youth, 
and  there  the  centre  of  attraction  was  his  mother ;  whose  care, 
instructions,  and  discipline,  had  prepared  him  to  reach  the  top. 
most  height  of  laudable  ambition ;  yet  how  were  his  glories 
forgotten  while  he  gazed  upon  her  from  whom,  wasted  by  time 
and  malady,  he  must  soon  part  with,  to  meet  no  more. 

6.  The  matron's  predictions  were  true.  The  disease  which 
so  long  had  preyed  upon  her  frame  completed  its  triumph,  and 
she  expired  at  the  age  of  eighty-five,  confiding  in  the  promises 
of  immortality  to  the  humble  believer. 


LESSON  LXXXI. 

Portrait  of  a  Worldly  Woman. 

1.  A  woman  has  spent  her  youth  without  the  practice  of  any 
remarkable  virtue,  or  the  commission  of  any  thing  which  is 
flagrantly  wrong ;  and  she  is  now  united  with  a  man,  whose 
moral  endowments  are  not  more  distinguished  than  her  own, 
but  who  is  industrious,  rich,  and  prosperous.     Against  the  con- 


124  COBB'S    SEQtiEL. 

nexion  she  had  no  objection ;  and  it  is  what  her  friends  entirely 
approved. 

2.  His  standing  in  life  is  respectable ;  and  they  both  pass 
along  without  scandal,  but  without  much  approbation  of  their 
own  consciences,  and  without  any  loud  applause  from  others ; 
for  the  love  of  the  world  is  the  principle  which  predominates 
in  their  bosoms ;  and  the  world  never  highly  praises  its  own 
votaries. 

3.  She  is  not  absolutely  destitute  of  the  external  appearance 
of  religion ;  for  she  constantly  attends  church  in  the  afternoon, 
unless  she  is  detained  by  her  guests ;  and  in  the  morning,  unless 
she  is  kept  at  home  by  a  slight  indisposition,  or  unfavourable 
weather,  which  she  supposes  happens  more  frequently  on  Sun- 
days than  other  days,  and  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  are 
several  degrees  less  inconvenient  and  less  unpleasant  than 
similar  causes,  which  prevent  her  from  going  to  a  party  of 
pleasure. 

4.  This,  however,  is  the  end  of  her  religion,  such  as  it  is ; 
for,  when  she  is  at  church,  she  does  not  think  herself  under 
obligations  to  attend  to  what  is  passing  there,  and  to  join  in 
the  worship  of  her  Maker.  She  cannot,  with  propriety,  be 
Called  a  woman  professing  godliness ;  for  she  makes  no  publick 
profession  of  love  to  her  Saviour:  she  does  only  what  is 
customary ;  and  she  would  do  still  less  if  the  omission  were 
decorous. 

5.  Of  domestick  religion  there  is  not  even  a  semblance.  As 
her  husband  does  not  think  proper  to  pray  with  his  family, 
so  she  does  not  think  proper  to  pray  with  her  children,  or  to 
instruct  them  in  the  doctrines  and  duties  of  Christianity.  On 
the  Gospel,  however,  no  ridicule  nor  contempt  is  cast ;  and 
twice  or  thrice  in  a  year,  thanks  are  given  to  God  at  her  table ; 
that  is,  when  a  minister  of  religion  is  one  of  her  guests. 

6.  No  time  being  consumed  in  devotion,  much  is  left  for  the 
care  of  her  house,  to  which  she  attends  with  worldly  discretion. 
Her  husband  is  industrious  in  acquiring  wealth,  and  she  is 
equally  industrious  in  spending  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  keep 
up  a  genteel  appearance.  She  is  prudent  in  managing  her 
affairs,  and  suffers  nothing  to  be  wasted  through  thoughtless- 
ness. In  a  word,  she  is  a  reasonable  economist ;  and  there  is 
a  loud  call,  though  she  is  affluent,  that  she  should  be  so,  as  her 
expenses  are  necessarily  great. 

7.  But  she  is  an  economist,  not  for  the  indigent,  but  for  her- 
self; not  that  she  may  increase  her  means  of  doing  good,  but 
that  she  may  adorn  her  person,  and  the  persons  of  ner  chil- 
dren, with  gold,  and  pearls,  and  costly  array ;  not  that  she  may 


cobb's  sequel*  125 

make  a  feast  for  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  lame,  and  the  blind) 
but  that  she  may  make  a  dinner  or  a  supper  for  her  rich  neigh- 
bours^ who  will  bid  her  again. 

8.  Though  the  preparations  for  these  expensive  dining  and 
evening  parties  are  more  irksome  than  the  toils  of  the  common 
labourer,  yet  she  submits  to  them  with  readiness ;  for  she  loves 
the  world,  and  she  loves  the  approbation  which  she  hopes  the 
world  will  bestow  on  the  brilliancy  of  her  decorations,  and  the 
exquisite  taste  of  her  high-seasoned  viands  and  delicious  wines. 
For  this  reputation  she  foregoes  the  pleasure  which  she  would 
Feel  in  giving  bread  to  the  fatherless,  and  in  kindling  the  cheer- 
ful fire  on  the  hearth  of  the  aged  widow.  Thus,  though  she  has 
many  guests  at  her  board,  yet  she  is  not  hospitable ;  and,  though 
she  gives  much  away,  yet  she  is  not  charitable ;  for  she  gives 
to  those  who  stand  in  no  need  of  her  gifts. 

9.  I  call  not  this  woman  completely  selfish ;  for  she  loves 
her  family.  She  is  sedulous  in  conferring  on  her  daughters  a 
polite  education,  and  in  settling  them  in  the  world  as  reputably 
as  she  is  established  herself.  For  her  sons  she  is  still  more 
anxious ;  because  the  sons  of  the  rich  are  too  much  addicted 
to  extravagance ;  and  she  is  desirous  to  preserve  them  from 
dissipations,  which  would  tarnish  the  good  name  that  she  would 
have  them  enjoy  in  the  world,  and  which,  above  all,  would 
impair  their  fortunes. 

10.  But  here  her  affection  terminates.  She  loves  nothing 
out  of  the  bosom  of  her  own  family :  for  the  poor  and  the 
wretched  she  has  no  regard.  It  is  not  strictly  accurate  to  say, 
that  she  bestows  nothing  on  them ;  because  she  sometimes 
gives  in  publick  charities,  when  it  would  not  be  decent  to  with- 
hold her  donations ;  and  she  sometimes  gives  more  privately, 
when  she  is  warmly  solicited,  and  when  all  her  friends  and 
neighbours  give :  but,  in  both  cases,  she  concedes  her  alms 
with  a  cold  and  unwilling  mind.  She  considers  it  in  the  same 
light  as  her  husband  views  the  taxes  which  he  pays  to  the 
government,  as  a  debt  which  must  be  discharged,  but  from 
which  she  would  be  glad  to  escape. 

11.  As  a  rational  woman,  however,  must  not  be  supposed 
to  conduct  herself  without  reason,  she  endeavours  to  find  ex- 
cuses for  her  omissions.  Her  first  and  great  apology  is,  that 
she  has  poor  relations  to  provide  for.  In  this  apology  there  is 
truth.  Mortifying  as  she  feels  it  to  be,  it  must  be  confessed 
that  she  is  clogged  with  indigent  connexions,  who  are  allowed 
to  come  to  her  house  when  she  has  no  apprehension  that  they 
will  be  seen  by  her  wealthy  visitants. 

12.  As  it  would  be  a  gross  violation  of  decency,  and  what 

11* 


126  COBB'S    SEQUEL. 

every  one  would  condemn  as  monstrous,  for  her  to  permit 
them  to  famish  when  she  is  so  able  to  relieve  them,  she  does, 
indeed,  bestow  something  on  them ;  but  she  gives  it  sparingly, 
reluctantly,  and  haughtily.  She  flatters  herself,  however,  that 
she  has  now  done  every  thing  which  can  with  justice  be 
demanded  of  her,  and  that  other  indigent  persons  have  not  a 
Claim  on  her  bounty. 

13.  Another  apology  is,  that  the  poor  are  vicious*  and  do  not 
deserve  her  beneficence.  By  their  idleness  and  intemperance 
they  have  brought  themselves  to  poverty.  They  have  little 
regard  to  truth ;  and,  though  it  must  be  allowed  that  their  dis- 
tress is  not  altogether  imaginary,  yet  they  are  ever  disposed  to 
exaggerate  their  sufferings.  While  they  are  ready  to  devour 
one  another,  they  are  envious  toward  the  rich,  and  the  kind- 
ness of  their  benefactors  they  commonly  repay  with  ingratitude. 

14.  To  justify  these  charges  she  can  produce  many  exam- 
ples ;  and  she  deems  that  they  are  sufficient  excuses  for  her 
want  of  humanity.  But  she  forgets,  in  the  mean  while,  that 
the  Christian  woman,  who  sincerely  loves  God  and  her  neigh- 
bour, in  imitation  of  her  heavenly  Father,  is  kind  to  the  evil  as 
Well  as  the  good,  to  the  unthankful  as  well  as  the  grateful. 

Freeman. 


LESSON  LXXXIL 
Elegy  to  Pity. 

1.  Hail>  lovely  power!  whose  bosom  heaves  the  sigh, 

When  fancy  paints  the  scene  of  deep  distress ; 
Whose  tears  spontaneous  crystallize  the  eye, 
When  rigid  fate  denies  the  power  to  bless. 

2.  Not  all  the  sweets  Arabia's  gales  convey 

From  flow'ry  meads,  can  with  that  sigh  compare ; 
Nor  dewdrops  glitt'ring  in  the  morning  ray, 
Seem  ne'er  so  beauteous  as  that  falling  tear. 

3.  Devoid  of  fear,  the  fawns  around  thee  play ; 

Emblem  of  peace,  the  dove  before  thee  flies : 
No  blood-stained  traces  mark  thy  blameless  way ; 
Beneath  thy  feet  no  hapless  insect  dies. 

4.  Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  range  the  mead  with  mey 

To  spring  the  partridge  from  the  guileful  foe ; 


cobb's  sequel.  127 

Prom  secret  snares  the  struggling  bird  to  free ; 
And  stop  the  hand  upraised  to  give  the  blow. 

•5.  And  when  the  air  with  heat  meridian  glows, 

And  nature  droops  beneath  the  conqu'ring  gleam, 
Let  us,  slow  wandering  where  the  current  flows, 
Save  sinking  flies  that  float  along  the  stream. 

6.  Or  turn  to  nobler,  greater  tasks  thy  care, 

To  me  thy  sympathetick  gifts  impart ; 
Teach  me  in  friendship's  grief  to  bear  a  share, 
And  justly  boast  the  gen'rous  feeling  heart. 

7.  Teach  me  to  sooth  the  helpless  orphan's  grief; 

With  timely  aid  the  widow's  woes  assuage ; 
To  mis'ry's  moving  cries  to  yield  relief; 
And  be  the  sure  resource  of  drooping  age. 

S.  So  when  the  genial  spring  of  life  shall  fade, 
And  sinking  nature  own  the  dread  decay, 
Some  soul  congenial  then  may  lend  its  aid, 
And  gild  the  close  of  life's  eventful  day. 


LESSON  LXXXUL 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  my  much  loved  Infant. 

1.  I  laid  my  hands  upon  her  brow  and  it  was  damp  and  cold, 
Her  deep  blue  eye  was  glazed  and  fixed,  the  fearful  tale 

was  told ; 
I  gently  pressed  her  little  lips,  I  felt  her  parting  breath, 
I  gazed  upon  her  little  face,  I  asked  can  this  be  death  ? 

2.  T  laid  her  little  body  down,  the  vital  spark  had  fled ; 

I  gazed  again  upon  my  child,  the  lovely,  and  the  dead : 
And  that  dear  little  face  was  there,  so  peaceful  and  so  mild  ; 
I  could  not  wish  her  back  again ;  but,  ah,  she  was  my  child ! 

3.  Ah,  could  I  mourn,  her  little  heart  no  longer  heaved  with  pain ; 
That  sickness  could  no  more  distress,  nor  fever  parch  a^ain ; 
That  she  now  drank  from  that  pure  stream  whence  living 

fountains  flow, 
Escaped  from  life's  dread  buffeting,  its  sorrows  and  its  wo  ? 


128  cobb's  sequel. 

4.  No :  though  a  bud  of  promise,  thou,  my  bright  my  precious 
one; 
And  though  my  heart  had  well  nigh  burst,  when  death  Ins 

work  had  done ; 
And  though  full  many  a  weary  hour  thy  infant  smiles  beguiied, 
I  would  not  wish  thee  back  again,  my  child,  my  lovely  child ! 

6.  No :  to  thy  mother's  fostering  arms  thou  wast  but  lent,  not 
given ; 
And  thou  hast  early  found  thy  way  into  thy  native  heaven  \ 
Now  in  the  bosom  of  thy  God,  from  every  sorrow  free, 
I  would  not  wish  thee  back  again,  but  I  would  go  to  thee* 

Charlotte, 


Lesson  lxxxiv. 

The  hand,  of  ow  Birth. 

1.  I'here  is  not  a  spot  in  this  wide  peopled  earth, 
So  dear  to  the  heart  as  the  land  of  our  birth : 

^is  the  home  of  our  childhood  !  the  beautiful  spot 
Which  mem'ry  retains  when  all  is  forgot. 

May  the  blessing  of  God 

Ever  hallow  the  sod, 
And  its  valleys  and  hills  by  our  children  be  trod. 

2.  Can  the  language  of  strangers,  in  accent  unknown, 
Send  a  thrill  to  our  bosom  like  that  of  our  own  ? 
The  face  may  be  fair,  and  the  smile  may  be  bland, 
But  it  breathes  not  the  tones  of  our  dear  native  land. 

There's  no  spot  on  earth 
Like  the  land  of  our  birth, 
Where  heroes  keep  guard  o'er  the  altar  and  hearth ! 

3.  How  sweet  is  the  language  which  taught  us  to  blend 
The  dear  names  of  parent,  of  husband,  and  friend ; 
Which  taught  us  to  lisp  on  our  mother's  soft  breast, 
The  ballads  she  sung  as  she  rocked  us  to  rest. 

May  the  blessing  of  God 
Ever  hallow  the  sod, 
And  its  valleys  and  hills  by  our  children  be  trod. 

Southern  Clarion. 


COBB  S    SEQUEL.  129 

LESSON  LXXXV. 

The  Dying  Man  to  his  Watch. . 

1.  Token  of  a  sainted  mother, 

By  her  dying  hand  bestowed, 
Oft  have  I,  by  thee  admonished, 

Turned  my  feet  in  duty's  road. 
Oft  I've  sought  the  shrine  of  pleasure, 

Oft  in  prayer  I've  bowed  the  knee ; 
But  by  light  or  gloom  surrounded, 

Each  event  was  marked  by  thee. 

2.  Time  its  ceaseless  finger  tracing, 

O'er  thy  ever-changing  face, 
Tells  of  life  that's  quickly  fleeting, 

And  of  hours  that  wrear  apace : 
All  my  hours  on  thee  are  noted, 

Every  moment  as  it  passed ; 
And,  still  faithful,  thou  art  pointing 

To  my  dying  hour  at  last. 

3.  Oft  I've  blamed  thy  tardy  movements, 

When  some  favourite  bliss  was  nigh ; 
When  my  pulse  with  hope  was  beating, 

As  the  future  lured  my  eye ; 
When  bright  pleasure  shone  around  me, 

And  the  scene  was  all  delight, 
I  have  murmured  at  thy  fleetness, 

And  condemned  thy"  speedy  flight. 

4.  Though  my  pulse  is  wildly  throbbing, 

Yet  unchanged  and  calm  thou  art, 
And  thy  movements  will  not  vary 

When  Death's  fingers  grasp  my  heart. 
Thy  hand  will  mark  that  coming  moment, 

Soon  to  seal  my  earthly  doom ; 
Nor  pause  when  loud  the  bell  resounding, 

Toll's  a  death  knell  o'er  my  tomb. — Cora. 
Literary  Gazette. 


130  Cobb's  sequel. 

LESSON  LXXXVL 

The  Journey  of  a  Day.    A  Picture  of  Human  Life, 

1.  Obidah,  the  son  of  Abenaina,  left  the  caravansary  early 
In  the  morning,  and  pursued  his  journey  through  the  plains  of 
Indostan.  He  was  fresh  and  vigorous  with  rest ;  he  was  ani* 
mated  with  hope ;  he  was  incited  by  desire ;  he  walked  swiftly 
forward  over  the  valleys,  and  saw  the  hills  gradually  rising 
before  him. 

2.  As  he  passed  along,  his  ears  were  delighted  with  the 
morning  song  of  the  bird  of  paradise ;  he  was  fanned  by  the 
last  flutters  of  the  sinking  breeze,  and  sprinkled  with  dew  from 
groves  of  spices.  He  sometimes  contemplated  the  towering 
height  of  the  oak,  monarch  of  the  hills ;  and  sometimes  caught 
the  gentle  fragrance  of  the  primrose,  eldest  daughter  of  the 
spring  :  all  his  senses  Were  gratified,  and  all  care  was  banished 
from  his  heart. 

3.  Thus  he  went  on,  till  the  sun  approached  his  meridian, 
and  the  increased  heat  preyed  upon  his  strength ;  he  then  looked 
round  about  him  for  some  more  commodious  path.  He  saw, 
on  his  right  hand,  a  grove  that  seemed  to  wave  its  shades  as  a 
sign  of  invitation ;  he  entered  it,  and  found  the  coolness  and 
verdure  irresistibly  pleasant. 

4.  He  did  not,  however,  forget  whither  he  was  travelling ; 
but  found  a  narrow  way,  bordered  with  flowers,  which  appeared 
to  have  the  same  direction  with  the  main  road ;  and  was  pleased 
that,  by  this  happy  experiment,  he  had  found  means  to  unite 
pleasure  with  business,  and  to  gain  the  rewards  of  diligence 
without  suffering  its  fatigues. 

5.  He,  therefore,  still  continued  to  walk  for  a  time,  without 
the  least  remission  of  his  ardour,  except  that  he  was  sometimes 
tempted  to  stop  by  the  musick  of  the  birds,  which  the  heat  had 
assembled  in  the  shade ;  and  sometimes  amused  himself  with 
plucking  the  flowers  that  covered  the  banks  on  either  side,  or 
the  fruits  that  hung  upon  the  branches. 

6.  At  last  the  green  path  began  to  decline  from  its  first  ten 
dency,  and  to  wind  among  hills  and  thickets,  cooled  with 
fountains,  and  murmuring  with  waterfalls.  Here  Obidah  paused 
for  a  time,  and  began  to  consider  whether  it  were  longer  safe 
to  forsake  the  known  and  common  track ;  but  remembering 
that  the  heat  was  now  in  its  greatest  violence,  and  that  the  plain 
was  dusty  and  uneven,  he  resolved  to  pursue  the  new  path, 


cobb's  sequel.  131 

which  he  supposed  only  to  make  a  few  meanders,  in  compli- 
ance with  the  varieties  of  the  ground,  and  to  end  at  last  in  the 
common  road. 

7.  Having  thus  calmed  his  solicitude,  he  renewed  his  pace, 
though  he  suspected  that  he  was  not  gaining  ground.  This 
uneasiness  of  his  mind  inclined  him  to  lay  hold  on  every  new 
object,  and  give  way  to  every  sensation  that  might  sooth  or 
divert  him.  He  listened  to  every  echo  ;  he  mounted  every  hill 
for  a  fresh  prospect ;  he  turned  aside  to  every  cascade ;  and 
pleased  himself  with  tracing  the  course  of  a  gentle  river  that 
rolled  among  the  trees,  and  watered  a  large  region  with  innu- 
merable circumvolutions. 

8.  In  these  amusements  the  hours  passed  away  unaccounted ; 
his  deviations  had  perplexed  his  memory,  and  he  knew  not 
toward  what  point  to  travel.  He  stood  pensive  and  confused, 
afraid  to  go  forward  lest  he  should  go  wrong,  yet  conscious 
that  the  time  of  loitering  was  now  past.  While  he  was  thus 
tortured  with  uncertainty,  the  sky  was  overspread  with  clouds ; 
the  day  vanished  from  before  him ;  and  a  sudden  tempest  gath- 
ered round  his  head. 

9.  He  was  now  roused  by  his  danger  to  a  quick  and  painful 
remembrance  of  his  folly;  he  now  saw  how  happiness  is  lost 
when  ease  is  consulted ;  he  lamented  the  unmanly  impatience 
that  prompted  him  to  seek  shelter  in  the  grove ;  and  despised 
the  petty  curiosity  that  led  him  on  from  trifle  to  trifle.  While 
he  was  thus  reflecting,  the  air  grew  blacker,  and  a  clap  of 
thunder  broke  his  meditation. 

10.  He  now  resolved  to  do  what  yet  remained  in  his  power, 
to  tread  back  the  ground  which  he  had  passed,  and  try  to  find 
some  issue  where  the  wood  might  open  into  the  plain.  He 
prostrated  himself  on  the  ground,  and  recommended  his  life  to 
the  Lord  of  Nature.  He  rose  with  confidence  and  tranquillity, 
and  pressed  on  with  resolution.  The  beasts  of  the  desert  were 
in  motion,  and  on  every  hand  were  heard  the  mingled  howls 
of  rage  and  fear,  and  ravage  and  expiration.  All  the  horrours 
of  darkness  and  solitude  surrounded  him  :  the  winds  roared  in 
the  woods ;  and  the  torrents  tumbled  from  the  hills. 

11.  Thus  forlorn  and  distressed,  he  wandered  through  the 
wild,  without  knowing  whither  he  was  going,  or  whether  he 
was  every  moment  drawing  nearer  to  safety,  or  to  destruction. 
At  length,  not  fear,  but  labour,  began  to  overcome  him ;  his 
breath  grew  short,  and  his  knees  trembled ;  and  he  was  on  the 
point  of  lying  down  in  resignation  to  his  fate,  when  he  beheld, 
through  the  brambles,  the  glimmer  of  a  taper. 

13,  He  advanced  toward  the  light,  and  finding  that  it  pro- 


132  cobb's  sequel. 

ceeded  from  the  cottage  of  a  hermit,  he  called  humbly  at  the 
door,  and  obtained  admission.  The  old  man  set  before  him 
such  provisions  as  he  had  collected  for  himself,  on  which  Obidah 
fed  with  eagerness  and  gratitude. 

13.  When  the  repast  was  over,  "  Tell  me,"  said  the  hermit, 
"  by  what  chance  thou  hast  been  brought  hither  1  I  have  been 
now  twenty  years  an  inhabitant  of  the  wilderness,  in  which  I 
never  saw  a  man  before."  Obidah  then  related  the  occurrences, 
of  his  journey,  without  any  concealment  or  palliation. 

14.  "  Son,"  said  the  hermit,  "  let  the  errours  and  follies,  the- 
dangers  and  escape  of  this  day,  sink  deep  into  thy  heart. 
Remember,  my  son,  that  human  life  is  the  journey  of  a  day. 
We  rise  in  the  morning  of  youth,  full  of  vigour,  and  full  of 
expectation ;  we  set  forward  with  spirit  and  hope,  with  gayety 
and  with  diligence,  and  travel  on  a  while  in  the  direct  road  ©f 
piety  towards  the  mansions  of  rest. 

15.  "  In  a  short  time,  we  remit  our  fervour,  and  endeavour  to 
find  some  mitigation  of  our  duty,  and  some  more  easy  means 
of  obtaining  the  same  end.  We  then  relax  our  vigour,  and 
resolve  no  longer  to  be  terrified  with  crimes  at  a  distance ;  but 
rely  upon  our  own  constancy,  and  venture  to  approach  what  we 
resolve  never  to  touch.  We  thus  enter  the  bowers  of  ease,  and 
repose  in  the  shades  of  security. 

16.  "  Here  the  heart  softens,  and  vigilance  subsides ;  we  are 
then  willing  to  inquire  whether  another  advance  cannot  be 
made,  and  whether  we  may  not,  at  least,  turn  our  eyes  upon 
the  gardens  of  pleasure.  We  approach  them  with  scruple  and 
hesitation  ;  we  enter  them,  but  enter  timorous  and  trembling ; 
and  always  hope  to  pass  through  them  without  losing  the  road 
of  virtue,  which,  for  a  while,  we  keep  in  our  sight,  and  to  which 
we  purpose  to  return.  But  temptation  succeeds  temptation, 
and  one  compliance  prepares  us  for  another;  we  in  time  lose 
the  happiness  of  innocence,  and  solace  our  disquiet  with  sensual 
gratifications. 

17.  "  By  degrees,  we  let  fall  the  remembrance  of  our  original 
intention,  and  quit  the  only  adequate  object  of  rational  desire. 
We  entangle  ourselves  in  business,  immerge  ourselves  in  luxury, 
and  rove  through  the  labyrinths  of  inconstancy,  till  the  dark- 
ness of  old  age  begins  to  invade  us,  and  disease  and  anxiety 
obstruct  our  way.  We  then  look  back  upon  our  lives  with 
horrour,  with  sorrow,  with  repentance ;  and  wish,  but  too  often 
vainly  wish,  that  we  had  not  forsaken  the  ways  of  virtue. 

18.  "  Happy  are  they,  my  son,  who  shall  learn  from  thy 
example,  not  to  despair ;  but  shall  remember,  that,  though  the 
day  is  past,  and  their  strength  is  wasted,  there  yet  remains  one 


cobb's  sequel.  133 

effort  to  be  made ;  that  reformation  is  never  hopeless,  nor  sin- 
cere endeavours  ever  unassisted;  that  the  wanderer  may  at 
length  return  after  all  his  errours ;  and  that  he  who  implores 
strength  and  courage  from  above,  shall  find  danger  and  difficulty 
give  way  before  him.  Go  now,  my  son,  to  thy  repose ;  com- 
mit thyself  to  the  care  of  Omnipotence ;  and  when  the  morning 
calls  again  to  toil,  begin  anew  thy  journey  and  thy  life." 

Dr.  Johnson. 


LESSON  LXXXVII. 

Steam-boats  on  the  Mississippi. 

1.  The  advantage  of  steam-boats,  great  as  it  is  everywhere, 
can  no  where  be  appreciated  as  on  the  Mississippi.  The  dis- 
tant points  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  used  to  be  separated 
from  New  Orleans  by  an  internal  obstruction,  far  more  formi- 
dable in  the  passing  than  the  Atlantick.  If  I  may  use  a  hard 
word,  they  are  now  brought  into  juxtaposition. 

2.  To  feel  what  an  invention  this  is  for  these  regions,  one 
must  have  seen  and  felt,  as  I  have  seen  and  felt,  the  difficulty 
and  danger  of  forcing  a  boat  against  the  current  of  these  mighty 
rivers,  on  which  a  progress  of  ten  miles  in  a  day  is  a  good  one. 
Indeed,  those  huge  and  unwieldy  boats,  the  barges  in  which  a 
great  proportion  of  the  articles  from  New  Orleans  used  to  be 
transported  to  the  upper  country,  required  twenty  or  thirty 
hands  to  work  them. 

3.  I  have  seen  them,  day  after  day,  on  the  lower  portions  of 
the  Mississippi,  where  there  was  no  other  way  of  working  them 
up  than  carrying  out  a  cable  half  a  mile  in  length,  in  advance 
of  the  barge,  and  fastening  it  to  a  tree.  The  hands  on  board 
then  draw  it  up  to  the  tree.  While  this  is  transacting,  another 
yawl,  still  in  advance  of  that,  has  ascended  to  a  higher  tree, 
and  made  another  cable  fast  to  it,  to  be  ready  to  be  drawn  upon 
as  soon  as  the  first  is  coiled.  This  is  the  most  dangerous  and 
fatiguing  way  of  all,  and  six  miles'  advance  in  a  day  is  good 
progress. 

4.  It  is  now  refreshing,  and  imparts  a  feeling  of  energy  and 
power  to  the  beholder,  to  see  the  large  and  beautiful  steam-boats 
scudding  up  the  eddies,  as  though  on  the  wing,  and,  when  they 
have  run  out  the  eddy,  strike  the  current.  The  foam  bursts  in 
a  sheet  quite  over  the  deck.  She  quivers  for  a  moment  with 
the  concussion ;  and  then,  as  though  she  had  collected  her 

12 


134  cobb's  sequel. 

energy,  and  vanquished  her  enemy,  she  resumes  her  stately 
march,  and  mounts  against  the  current,  five  or  six  miles  an  hour, 

5.  I  have  travelled  in  this  way,  for  days  together,  more  than 
a  hundred  miles  in  a  day,  against  the  current  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  difficulty  of  ascending  used  to  be  the  only  circumstance 
of  a  voyage  that  was  dreaded  in  the  anticipation.  This  diffi- 
culty now  disappears.  A  family  in  Pittsburgh  wishes  to  make 
a  social  visit  to  a  kindred  family  on  Red  river.  The  trip  is 
but  two  thousand  miles.  They  all  go  together ;  servants,  bag* 
gage,  or  "plunder,"  as  the  phrase  is,  to  any  amount.  In  twelve 
days  they  reach  the  point  proposed, 

6.  Even  the  return  is  but  a  short  voyage.  Surely  the  people 
of  this  country  will  have  to  resist  strong  temptations,  if  they 
do  not  become  a  social  people.  You  are  invited  to  a  breakfast 
at  seventv  miles'  distance.  You  go  on  board  the  passing  steam- 
boat, ancf  awake  in  the  morning  in  season  for  your  appointment, 
The  day  will  probably  come,  when  the  inhabitants  of  the  warm 
and  sickly  regions  of  the  lower  points  of  the  Mississippi  will 
take  their  periodical  migrations  to  the  north,  with  the  geese 
and  swans  of  the  gulf,  and  with  them  return  in  the  winter. 

7.  A  sea-voyage,  after  all  that  can  be  said  in  its  favour,  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  all  this.  The  barren  and  boundless 
expanse  of  waters  soon  tires  upon  every  eye  but  a  seaman's, 
I  say  nothing  of  fastening  tables,  and  holding  fast  to  beds,  or 
inability  to  write  or  to  cook.  I  leave  out  of  sight  sea-sickness, 
and  the  danger  of  descending  to  those  sea-green  caves,  of  which 
poetry  has  so  much  to  say.  Here  you  are  always  near  the  shore, 
always  see  the  green  earth,  can  always  eat,  write,  and  sleep, 
undisturbed.  You  can  always  obtain  cream,  fowls,  vegetables, 
fruit,  wild  game ;  and,  in  my  mind,  there  is  no  kind  of  comparU 
son  between  the  comforts  and  discomforts  of  a  sea  and  river 
voyage. 

8.  A  stranger  to  this  mode  of  travelling  would  find  it  difficult 
to  describe  his  impressions  upon  first  descending  the  Missis- 
sippi in  one  of  the  better  steam-boats.  He  contemplates  the 
prodigious  establishment,  with  all  its  fitting  of  deck  common, 
and  ladies'  cabin  apartments.  Over  head,  about  him,  and  be» 
low  him,  all  is  life  and  movement.  He  sees  its  splendid  cabin, 
richly  carpeted,  its  finishing  of  mahogany,  its  mirrors  and  fine 
furniture,  its  bar-room,  and  gliding-tables,  to  which  eighty  pas- 
sengers can  sit  down  with  comfort, 

9.  The  fare  is  sumptuous,  and  every  thing  in  a  style  of 
splendour,  order,  quiet,  and  regularity,  far  exceeding  that  of 
taverns  in  general.  You  read,  you  converse,  you  walk,  you 
sleep,  as  you  choose;  for  custom  has  prescribed  that  every 


Cobb's  sequel.  133> 

thing1  shall  be  without  ceremony.  The  varied  and  verdarit 
scenery  shifts  around  you.  The  trees,  the  green  islands,  hate 
an  appearance,  as  by  enchantment,  of  moving  by  you.  The 
river-fowl,  with  their  white  and  extended  lines,  are  wheeling 
their  flight  above  you. 

10.  The  sky  is  bright.  The  river  is  dotted  with  boats  above 
you,  beside,  and  below  you.  You  hear  the  echo  of  their  bugles 
reverberating  from  the  woods.  Behind  the  wooded  point,  you 
see  the  ascending  column  of  smoke  rising  above  the  trees, 
which  announces  that  another  steam-boat  is  approaching  you. 
This  moving  pageant  glides  through  a  narrow  passage  between 
the  main  shore  and  an  island,  thick  set  with  young  cotton  woods, 
so  even,  so  regular,  and  beautiful*  that  they  seem  to  have  been 
planted  for  a  pleasure  ground. 

11.  As  you  shoot  out  again  into  the  broad  stream,  you  come 
m  view  of  a  plantation,  with  all  its  busy  and  cheerful  accom- 
paniments. At  other  times,  you  are  sweeping  along,  for  manjr 
leagues  together,  where  either  shore  is  a  boundless  and  path- 
less wilderness.  And  the  contrast,  which  is  thus  so  strongly 
forced  upon  the  mind,  of  the  highest  improvement  and  the 
latest  invention  of  art,  with  the  most  lonely  aspect  of  a  grand 
but  desolate  nature;  the  most  striking  and  complete  assem- 
blage of  splendour  and  comfort,  the  cheerfulness  of  a  floating 
hotel,  which  carries,  perhaps,  two  hundred  guests,  with  a  wild 
and  uninhabited  forest,  one  hundred  miles  in  width,  the  abode 
only  of  owls,  bears,  and  noxious  animals ;  this  strong  contrast 
produces,  to  me,  at  least,  something  of  the  same  pleasant  sensa- 
tion that  is  produced  by  lying  down  to  sleep  with  the  rain 
pouring  on  the  roof  immediately  over  head. — T.  Flint* 


LESSON  LXXXVIII. 
Advantages  of  Studying  History, 

1.  If  We  consider  the  knowledge  of  history  with  regard  to 
Its  application,  we  shall  find  that  it  is  eminently  useful  to  us  in 
three  respects,  namely,  as  it  appears  in  a  moral,  a  political,  and 
a  religious  point  of  view. 

2.  In  a  moral  point  of  view,  it  is  beneficial  to  mankind  at 
large,  as  the  guide  of  their  conduct.  In  a  political,  as  it  sug* 
gests  useful  expedients  to  those  who  exercise  the  publick  offices 
of  the  state ;  or  as  it  enables  us  to  form,  by  comparison  with 
those  who  have  gone  before  them,  a  just  estimate  of  their 


136  COBB  S    SEQUEL. 

merits.  In  a  religious,  as  it  teaches  us  to  regard  the  Supreme 
Beinff  as  the  governour  of  the  universe,  and  sovereign  disposer 
of  all  events. 

3.  The  faculties  of  the  soul  are  improved  by  exercise ;  and 
nothing  is  more  proper  to  enlarge,  to  quicken,  and  to  refine 
them,  than  a  survey  of  the  conduct  of  mankind.  History  sup- 
plies us  with  a  detail  of  facts,  and  submits  them  to  examination 
before  we  are  called  into  active  life.  By  observation  and 
reflection  upon  others,  we  begin  an  early  acquaintance  with 
human  nature,  extend  our  views  of  the  moral  world,  and  are 
enabled  to  acquire  such  a  habit  of  discernment,  and  correctness 
of  judgement,  as  others  obtain  only  by  experience. 

4.  By  meditating  on  the  lives  of  sages  and  heroes,  we  exer- 
cise our  virtues  in  a  review,  and  prepare  them  for  approaching 
action.  We  learn  the  motives,  the  opinions,  and  the  passions 
of  the  men  who  lived  before  us ;  and  the  fruit  of  that  study  is 
a  more  perfect  knowledge  of  ourselves,  and  a  correction  of  our 
failings  by  their  examples. 

5.  Experience  and  the  knowledge  of  history  reflect  mutual 
light,  and  afford  mutual  assistance.  Without  the  former,  no 
one  can  act  with  address  and  dexterity.  Without  the  latter, 
no  one  can  add  to  the  natural  resources  of  his  own  mind  a 
knowledge  of  those  precepts  and  examples  which  have  tended 
to  form  the  character  and  promote  the  glory  of  eminent  men. 
History  contributes  to  divest  us  of  many  illiberal  prejudices, 
by  enlarging  our  acquaintance  with  the  world.  It  sets  us  at 
liberty  from  that  blind  partiality  to  our  native  country,  which 
is  a  sure  mark  of  a  contracted  mind,  when  due  merit  is  not 
allowed  to  any  other. 

6.  This  study,  likewise,  tends  to  strengthen  our  abhorrence 
of  vice ;  and  creates  a  relish  for  true  greatness  and  solid  glory. 
We  see  the  hero  and  the  philosopher  represented  in  their 
proper  colours ;  and  as  magnanimity,  honour,  integrity,  and 
generosity,  when  displayed  in  illustrious  instances,  naturally 
make  a  favourable  impression  on  our  minds,  our  attachment  to 
them  is  gradually  formed.  The  fire  of  enthusiasm  and  of  vir- 
tuous emulation  is  lighted,  and  we  long  to  practise  what  we 
have  been  instructed  to  approve. 

7.  The  love  of  our  country  naturally  awakens  in  us  a  spirit 
of  curiosity  to  inquire  into  the  conduct  of  our  ancestors,  and  to 
learn  the  memorable  events  ©f  their  history.  Nothing  that 
happened  to  them  can  be  a  matter  of  indifference  to  us.  We 
are  their  descendants,  we  reap  the  fruits  of  their  publick  and 
private  labours,  and  we  not  only  share  the  inheritance  of  their 
property,  but  derive  reputation  from  their  noble  actions. 


dOBB's    SEQUEL.  \$ff 

8.  llistory,  considered  with  respect  to  the  nature  of  its  sub- 
jects, ma)'-  be  divided  into  general  and  particular ;  and  with 
respect  to  time,  into  ancient  and  modern.  Ancient  history 
commences  with  the  creation,  and  extends  to  the  reign  of  Char- 
lemagne, in  the  year  of  our  Lord  eight  hundred.  Modern 
history,  beginning  with  that  period,  reaches  down  to  the  present 
times.  General  history  relates  to  nations  and  publick  affairs, 
and  may  be  subdivided  into  ecclesiastical  and  civil,  or  accord- 
ing to  some  writers,  into  sacred  and  profane.  Biography, 
memoirs,  and  letters,  constitute  particular  history.  Statistic^ 
refer  to  the  present  condition  of  nations.  Geography  and 
chronology  are  important  aids,  and  give  order*  regularity,  and 
clearness  to  all* — Kett. 


LESSON  LXXXIX, 
Diversity  in  the  Human  Character. 

1.       Virtuous  and  vicious  every  man  must  be* 
Few  in  the  extreme,  but  all  in  the  degree ; 
The  rogue  and  fool  by  fits  are  fair  and  wise, 
And  e'en  the  best,  by  fits,  what  they  despise. 

&       'Tis  but  by  part  we  follow  good  or  ill* 
For  vice,  or  virtue*  self  directs  it  still  5 
Each  individual  seeks  a  several  goal ; 
But  Heaven's  great  view  is  one*  and  that  the  whole  J 
That  counterworks  each  folly  and  caprice ; 
That  disappoints  the  effect  of  every  vice ; 
That  happy  frailties  to  all  ranks  applied ; 
Shame  to  the  virgin,  to  the  matron  pride, 
Fear  to  the  statesman,  rashness  to  the  chief* 
1*0  kings  presumption*  and  to  crowds  belief, 
That  virtue's  end  from  vanity  can  raise, 
"Which  seeks  no  interest,  no  reward  but  praise  j 
And  build  on  wants,  and  on  defects  of  mind* 
The  joy,  the  peace,  the  glory  of  mankind. 

3.       Heaven,  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend, 
Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all* 
Wants,  frailties,  passions,  closer  still  ally 
The  common  interest,  01  endear  the  tie. 
12* 


138  COBB's    SEQUEL. 

To  those  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sincere) 
Each  homefelt  joy  that  life  inherits  here ; 
Yet  from  the  same,  we  learn  in  its  decline, 
Those  joys,  those  loves,  those  interests  to  resign. 
Taught  half  by  reason,  half  by  mere  decay, 
To  welcome  death,  and  calmly  pass  away. 

4.  Whate'er  the  passion,  knowledge,  fame,  or  pelf, 
Not  one  would  change  his  neighbour  with  himself. 
The  learned  is  happy,  nature  to  explore, 

The  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more ; 

The  rich  is  happy  in  the  plenty  given, 

The  poor  contents  him  with  the  care  of  heaven. 

See  the  blind  beggar  dance,  the  cripple  sing, 

The  sot  a  hero,  lunatick  a  king  ; 

The  starving  chymist  in  his  golden  views 

Supremely  blest,  the  poet  in  his  muse. 

5.  See  some  strange  comfort  every  state  attend, 
And  pride,  bestowed  on  all,  a  common  friend ; 
See  some  fit  passion  every  age  supply, 

Hope  travels  through,  nor  quits  us  when  we  die. 

6.  Behold  the  child,  by  nature's  kindly  law, 
Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw  ; 
Some  livelier  plaything  gives  his  youth  delight ; 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite ; 

Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  stage, 
And  cards  and  counters  are  the  toys  of  age ; 
Pleased  with  this  bawble  still,  as  that  before ; 
Till  tired  he  sleeps,  and  life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 

7.  Meanwhile  opinion  gilds,  with  varying  rays, 
Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days ; 
Each  want  of  happiness  by  hope  supplied, 
And  each  vacuity  of  sense  by  pride. 

These  build  as  fast  as  knowledge  can  destroy : 
In  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble,  joy : 
One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain, 
And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain : 
E'en  mean  self-love  becomes,  by  force  divine, 
The  scale  to  measure  others'  wants  by  thine. 
See !  and  confess,  one  comfort  still  must  rise ; 
'Tis  this :  though  man's  a  fool,  yet  God  is  wise. 

Pope. 


cobb's  sequel.  139 

LESSON  xa 

The  Sleepers. 

1.  They  are  sleeping!    Who  are  sleeping? 

Children,  wearied  with  their  play ; 
For  the  stars  of  night  are  peeping, 

And  the  sun  hath  sunk  away. 
As  the  dew  upon  the  blossoms 

Bow  them  on  their  slender  stem, 
So,  as  light  as  their  own  bosoms, 

Balmy  sleep  hath  conquered  them, 

2.  They  are  sleeping !    Who  are  sleeping  ? 

Mortals,  compassed  round  with  wo, 
Eyelids,  wearied  out  with  weeping, 

Close  for  very  weakness  now : 
And  that  short  relief  from  sorrow, 

Harassed  nature  shall  sustain, 
Till  they  wake  again  to-morrow, 

Strengthened  to  contend  with  pain  ! 

3.  They  are  sleeping !    Who  are  sleeping  ? 

Captives,  in  their  gloomy  cells ; 
Yet  sweet  dreams  are  o'er  them  creeping, 

With  their  many-coloured  spells. 
All  they  love,  again  they  clasp  them ; 

Feel  again  their  long-lost  joys ; 
But  the  haste  with  which  they  grasp  them. 

Every  fairy  form  destroys. 

4.  They  are  sleeping !    Who  are  sleeping  ? 

Misers,  by  their  hoarded  gold  ; 
And  in  fancy  now  are  heaping 

Gems  and  pearls  of  price  untold. 
Golden  chains  their  limbs  encumber, 

Diamonds  seem  before  them  strown ; 
But  they  waken  from  their  slumber, 

And  the  splendid  dream  is  flown. 

5.  They  are  sleeping !    Who  are  sleeping? 

Pause  a  moment,  softly  tread ; 
Anxious  friends  are  fondly  keeping 
Vigils  by  the  sleeper's  bed  ! 


140  cobb's  sequel. 

Other  hopes  have  all  forsaken, 

One  remains,  that  slumber  deep 
Speak  not,  lest  the  slumberer  wakert 

From  that  sweet,  that  saving  sleep. 

6*  They  are  sleeping !    Who  are  sleeping  1 
Thousands,  who  have  passed  away, 
From  a  world  of  wo  and  weeping, 

To  the  regions  of  decay ! 
Safe  they  rest,  the  green  turf  under ; 
Sighing  breeze,  or  musick's  breath, 
Winter's  wind,  or  summer's  thunder, 
Cannot  break  the  sleep  of  death ! 

Mrs.  M.  A.  Browne^ 


LESSON  XCl. 

Cypress  Swamps  of  the  Mississippi. 

1.  Beyond  the  lakes  there  are  immense  swamps  of  cypress* 
which  swamps  constitute  a  vast  proportion  of  the  inundated 
lands  of  the  Mississippi  and  its  waters.  No  prospect  on  earth 
can  be  more  gloomy.  The  poetick  Styx  or  Acheron  had  not  a 
greater  union  of  dismal  circumstances.  Well  may  the  cypress 
have  been  esteemed  a  funereal  and  lugubrious  tree. 

%  When  the  tree  has  shed  its  leaves,  for  it  is  a  deciduous 
tree*  &  cypress  swamp,  with  its  countless  interlaced  branches 
of  a  hoary  gray,  has  an  aspect  of  desolation  and  death,  that* 
often  as  I  have  been  impressed  with  it,  I  cannot  describe.  Iri 
summer  its  fine,  short,  and  deep  green  leaves  invest  these  hoary 
branches  with  a  drapery  of  crape. 

3.  The  water  in  which  they  grow  is  a  vast  and  dead  level* 
two  or  three  feet  deep,  still  leaving  the  innumerable  cypress 
*  kneeS,"  as  they  are  called,  or  very  elliptical  trunks,  resem* 
bling  circular  bee-hives,  throwing  their  points  above  the  waters* 
This  Water  is  covered  with  a  thick  coat  of  green  matter,  resem* 
bling  green  burT-velvek  The  moschetoes  swarm  above  the 
water  in  countless  millions. 

4.  A  Very  frequent  adjunct  to  this  horrible  scenery  is  the 
moccasin  snake,  with  his  huge  scaly  body  lying  in  folds  upon 
the  side  of  a  cypress  knee  *,  and*  if  you  approach  too  near,  lazy 
iand  reckless  as  he  is,  he  throws  the  upper  jaw  of  his  huge 
month  almost  back  to  his  neck,  giving  you  ample  warning  Oi* 
his  ability  and  will  to  defend  himself* 


cobb's  sequel.  141 

5.  I  travelled  forty  miles  along  this  river  swamp,  and  a  con- 
siderable part  of  the  way  in  the  edge  of  it ;  in  which  the  horse 
sunk,  at  every  step,  half  up  to  his  knees.  I  was  enveloped, 
for  the  whole  distance,  with  a  cloud  of  moschetoes.  Like  the 
ancient  Avernus,  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  a  single  bird, 
in  the  whole  distance,  except  the  blue  jay.  Nothing  inter- 
rupted the  death-like  silence,  but  the  hum  of  moschetoes. 

6.  There  cannot  be  well  imagined  another  feature  to  the 
gloom  of  these  vast  and  dismal  forests,  to  finish  this  kind  of 
landscape,  more  in  keeping  with  the  rest,  than  the  long  moss, 
or  Spanish  beard ;  and  this  funereal  drapery  attaches  itself  to 
the  cypress  in  preference  to  any  other  tree.  There  is  not,  that 
I  know,  an  object  in  nature,  which  produces  such  a  number  of 
sepulchral  images  as  the  view  of  the  cypress  forests,  all  shag- 
ged, dark,  and  enveloped  in  hanging  festoons  of  moss. 

7.  If  you  would  inspire  an  inhabitant  of  New  England,  pos- 
sessed of  the  customary  portion  of  feeling,  with  the  degree  of 
home-sickness  which  would  strike  to  the  heart,  transfer  him 
instantly  from  the  hill  and  dale,  the  bracing  air  and  varied 
scenery  of  the  north,  to  the  cypress  swamps  of  the  South,  that 
are  covered  with  the  long  moss. 

8.  This  curious  appendage  to  the  trees  is  first  visible  in  the 
cypress  swamps  at  about  thirty-three  degrees,  and  is  seen  thence 
to  the  gulf.  It  is  the  constant  accompaniment  of  the  trees  in 
deep  bottoms  and  swampy  lands,  and  seems  to  be  an  indication 
of  the  degree  of  humidity  in  the  atmosphere.  I  have  observed 
that,  in  dry  and  hilly  pine  woods,  far  from  streams  and  stagnant 
waters,  it  almost  wholly  disappears ;  but  in  the  pine  woods  it 
re-appears  as  you  approach  bottoms,  streams,  and  swamps.  I 
have  remarked  too,  that,  where  it  so  completely  envelops  the 
cypress  as  to  show  nothing  but  the  festoons  of  the  dark  gray 
moss,  other  trees  are  wholly  free  from  it.  It  seems  less  inclined 
to  attach  itself  to  the  cotton-wood  trees  than  to  any  other. 

9.  This  moss  is  a  plant  of  the  parasitical  species,  being  propa- 
gated by  seed,  which  forms  in  a  capsule  that  is  preceded  by  a 
very  minute,  but  beautiful  purple  flower.  Although,  when  the 
trees  That  have  cast  their  leaves  are  covered  with  it,  they  look  as 
if  they  were  dead,  yet  the  moss  will  not  live  long  on  a  dead  tree. 
It  is  well  known  that  this  moss,  when  managed  by  a  process  like 
that  of  preparing  hemp,  or  flax,  separates  from  its  bark,  and  the 
black  fibre  that  remains  is  not  unlike  horse-hair,  elastick,  incor- 
ruptible, and  an  admirable  and  cheap  article  for  mattresses,  of 
which  are  formed  most  of  the  beds  of  the  southern  people  of 
this  region. — T.  Flint. 


143  G03B  S    SEQUEL. 

LfiSSON  xcii. 

On  Visiting  a  Scene  of  Childhood,. 

1  (Jdme  to  the  place  of  my  birth,  and  said,  '  The  friends  of  my  youth, 
where  are  they'?'  and  Echo  answered,  '  "Where  are  they V  " 

1.  Los a  years  had  fclapsed  since  I  gazed  tin  the  scene, 
Which  my  fancy  still  robed  in  its  freshness  of  green 
The  spot  where,  a  schoolboy,  all  thoughtless*  I  strayed 
By  the  side  of  the  stream,  in  the  gloom  of  the  shade. 

5.  I  thought  of  the  friends  who  had  roamed  with  me  there, 
When  the  sky  was  so  blue,  and  the  flowers  were  so  fair  $ 
All  scattered  !  all  sundered  by  mountain  and  wave, 
And  some  in  the  silent  embrace  of  the  grave ! 

3.  I  thought  of  the  green  banks,  that  circled  around, 

With  wild-flowers,  and  sweet-brier,  and  eglantine  crowned  i 

I  thought  of  the  river,  all  quiet  and  bright* 

As  the  face  of  the  sky  on  a  blue  summer  night : 

4.  And  I  thought  of  the  trees  under  which  we  had  strayed, 
Of  the  broad  leafy  boughs,  with  their  coolness  of  shade 
And  I  hoped,  though  disfigured,  some  token  to  find 

Of  the  names,  and  the  carvings,  impressed  on  the  rind. 

5>  All  eager,  t  hastened,  the  scene  to  behold, 

Rendered  sacred  and  dear  by  the  feelings  of  old ; 
And  I  deemed  that,  unaltered,  my  eye  should  explore 
This  refuge,  this  haunt,  this  elysium  of  yore. 

6.  'Twas  a  dream !  not  a  token  or  trace  could  I  view, 
Of  the  names  that  I  loved,  of  the  trees  that  I  knew ; 
Like  the  shadows  of  night  at  the  dawning  of  day, 

"  Like  a  tale  that  is  told,"  they  had  vanished  away. 

7.  And  methottght  the  lone  river  that  murmured  along, 
Was  more  dull  in  its  motion,  more  sad  in  its  song, 
Since  the  birds,  that  had  nestled  and  warbled  above, 
Had  all  fled  from  its  banks,  at  the  fall  of  the  grove* 

8»  I  paused :  and  the  moral  came  home  to  my  heart : 
Behold,  how  of  earth  all  the  glories  depart ! 


cgbb's  sequel.  143 

Our  visions  are  baseless,  our  hopes  but  a  gleam, 
Our  staff  but  a  reed,  and  our  life  but  a  dream. 

0.  Then,  oh,  let  us  look,  let  our  prospects  allure, 
To  scenes  that  can  fade  not,  to  realms  that  endure 
To  glories,  to  blessings,  that  triumph  sublime 
O'er  the  blightings  of  Change,  and  the  ruins  of  Time. 

Blackwood's  Magazine, 


LESSON  XCIII, 

The  Old  Man's  Funeral, 

1.  I  saw  an  aged  man  upon  his  bier : 

His  hair  was  thin  and  white,  and  on  his  brow 
A  record  of  the  cares  of  many  a  year ; 

Cares  that  were  ended  and  forgotten  now. 
And  there  was  sadness  round,  and  faces  bowed, 
And  women's  tears  fell  fast,  and  children  wailed  aJou4« 

%  Then  rose  another  hoary  man,  and  said, 

In  faltering  accents,  to  that  weeping  train, 
#  Why  mourn  ye  that  our  aged  friend  is  dead  ? 

Ye  are  not  sad  to  see  the  gathered  grain, 
Nor  when  their  mellow  fruit  the  orchards  cast, 
Nor  when  the  yellow  woods  shake  down  the  ripened  mast, 

Si.  "  Ye  sigh  not  when  the  sun,  his  course  fulfilled, 
His  glorious  course,  rejoicing  earth  and  sky, 
In  the  soft  evening,  when  the  winds  are  stilled* 

Sinks  where  the  islands  of  refreshment  lie, 
And  leaves  the  smile  of  Ms  departure,  spread 
O'er  the  warm-coloured  heaven  and  ruddy  mountain  head 

4.  "  Why  weep  ye  then  for  him,  who,  having  run 

The  hound  of  man's  appointed  years,  at  last, 

Life's  blessings  all  enjoyed,  life's  labours  done, 

Serenely  to  his  final  rest  has  passed  ? 
While  the  soft  memory  of  his  virtues  yet 
fingers,  like  twilight  hues,  when  the  bright  sun  is  sek 

Su  "  His  youth  was  innocent ;  his  riper  age 

.Marked  with  some  act  of  goodness  every  dayj 


144  cobb's  sequel. 

And,  watched  by  eyes  that  loved  him,  calm  and  sage, 

Faded  his  late-declining  years  away. 
Cheerful  he  gave  his  being  up,  and  went 
To  slure  the  holy  rest  that  waits  a  life  well  spent 

6.  "  That  life  was  happy ;  every  day  he  gave 

Thanks  for  the  fair  existence  that  was  his ; 
For  a  sick  fancy  made  him  not  her  slave, 

To  mock  him  with  her  phantom  miseries. 
No  chronick  tortures  racked  his  aged  limb, 
For  luxury  and  sloth  had  nourished  none  for  him. 

7.  "  And  I  am  glad  that  he  has  lived  thus  long ; 

And  glad  that  he  has  gone  to  his  reward ; 
Nor  deem  that  kindly  nature  did  him  wrong, 

Softly  to  disengage  the  vital  cord. 
When  his  weak  hand  grew  palsied,  and  his  eye 
Dark  with  the  mists  of  age,  it  was  his  time  to  die." 

Bryant. 


LESSON  XCIV. 

Influence  of  the  Dead  on  the  Living. 

1.  The  relations  between  man  and  man  cease  not  with  life. 
The  dead  leave  behind  them  their  memory,  their  example,  and 
the  effects  of  their  actions.  Their  influence  still  abides  with 
us.  Their  names  and  characters  dwell  in  our  thoughts  and 
hearts.  We  live  and  commune  with  them  in  their  writings. 
We  enjoy  the  benefit  of  their  labours.  Our  institutions  have 
been  founded  by  them. 

2.  We  are  surrounded  by  the  works  of  the  dead.  Our 
knowledge  and  our  arts  are  the  fruit  of  their  tdjl.  Our  minds 
have  been  formed  by  their  instructions.  We  are  most  inti- 
mately connected  with  them  by  a  thousand  dependances. 
Those  whom  we  have  loved  in  life  are  still  objects  of  our 
deepest  and  holiest  affections.  Their  power  over  us  remains. 
They  are  with  us  in  our  solitary  walks,  and  their  voices  speak 
to  our  hearts  in  the  silence  of  midnight. 

3.  Their  image  is  impressed  upon  our  dearest  recollections 
and  our  most  sacred  hopes.  They  form  an  essential  part  of 
our  treasure  laid  in  heaven.  For,  above  all,  we  are  separated 
from  them  but  for  a  little  time.  We  are  soon  to  be  united 
with  them. 


cobb's  sequel.  145 

4.  If  we  follow  in  the  path  of  those  whom  we  have  loved, 
we  too  shall  soon  join  the  innumerable  company  of  the  spirits 
of  just  men  made  perfect.  Our  affections  and  our  hopes  are 
not  buried  in  the  dust,  to  which  we  commit  the  poor  remains 
of  mortality.  The  blessed  retain  their  remembrance  and  their 
love  for  us  in  heaven ;  and  we  will  cherish  our  remembrance 
and  our  love  for  them  while  on  earth. 

5.  Creatures  of  imitation  and  sympathy  as  we  are,  we  look 
around  us  for  support  and  countenance  even  in  our  virtues. 
We  recur  for  them  most  securely  to  the  examples  of  the  dead, 
There  is  a  degree  of  insecurity  and  uncertainty  about  living 
worth,  The  stamp  has  not  yet  been  put  upon  it,  which  pre-* 
eludes  all  change,  and  seals  it  as  a  just  object  of  admiration 
for  future  timjes. 

6.  There  is  no  service,  which  a  man  of  commanding  intellect 
can  render  his  fellow-creatures,  better  than  that  of  leaving  be" 
hind  him  an  unspotted  example.  If  he  do  not  confer  upon 
them  this  benefit ;  if  he  leave  a  character,  dark  with  vices  in 
the  sight  of  God,  but  dazzling  with  shining  qualities  to  the 
view  of  men ;  it  may  be  tbat  all  his  other  services  had  better 
have  been  forborne,  and  he  had  passed  inactive  and  unnoticed 
through  life, 

7.  It  is  a  dictate  of  wisdom,  therefore,  as  well  as  feeling, 
when  a  man,  eminent  for  his  virtues  and  talents,  has  been  taken 
away,  to  collect  the  riches  of  his  goodness,  and  add  them  to  the 
treasury  of  human  improvement.  The  true  Christian  liveth 
not  for  himself,  and  dieth  not  for  himself;  and  it  is  thus,  jn, 
one  respect,  that  he  dieth  not  for  himself-r-NoRTQN, 


LESSON  XCV. 
Catharina,  Emperess  of  Russia, 

1.  Catharjna  Alexowna,  born  near  Derpat,  a  little  city  in 
Livonia,  was  heir  to  no  other  inheritance  than  the  virtues  and 
frugality  of  her  parents.  Her  father  being  dead,  she  lived  with 
her  aged  mother,  in  her  cottage  covered  with  straw,  and  both, 
though  very  poor,  were  very  contented.  Here,  retired  from 
the  gaze  of  the  world,  by  the  labour  of  her  hands  she  supported 
her  parent,  who  was  now  incapable  of  supporting  herself. 

%  Though  Catharina's  face  and  person  were  models  of  per* 
fection,  yet  her  whole  attention  seemed  bestowed  upon  hey 
mind.    Her  mother  taught  her  to  reeid,  and  m  old  Lutheran, 

13 


146  COBB  S    SEQUEL. 

minister  instructed  her  in  the  maxims  and  duties  of  religion. 
Nature  had  furnished  her  not  only  with  a  ready,  but  a  solid  turn 
of  thought ;  not  only  with  a  strong,  but  a  right  understanding. 

3.  Catharina  was  fifteen  years  old  when  her  mother  died. 
She  then  left  her  cottage,  and  went  to  live  with  the  Lutheran 
minister,  by  whom  she  had  been  instructed  from  her  childhood. 
In  his  house  she  resided  in  quality  of  governess  to  his  children ; 
at  once  reconciling  in  her  character,  unerring  prudence  with 
surprising  vivacity.  The  old  man,  who  regarded  her  as  one 
of  his  own  children,  had  her  instructed  in  the  elegant  parts  of 
female  education,  by  the  masters  who  attended  the  rest  of  his 
family. 

4.  Thus  she  continued  to  improve  until  he  died ;  by  which 
accident  she  was  reduced  to  her  former  poverty.  The  country 
of  Livonia  was,  at  that  time,  wasted  by  war,  and  lay  in  a  misera- 
ble state  of  desolation.  Those  calamities  are  ever  most  heavy 
upon  the  poor ;  wherefore,  Catharina,  though  possessed  of  so 
many  accomplishments,  experienced  all  the  miseries  of  hope 
less  indigence.  Provisions  becoming  every  day  more  scarce, 
and  her  private  stock  being  entirely  exhausted,  she  resolved 
at  last  to  travel  to  Marienburgh,  a  city  of  greater  plenty. 

5.  With  her  scanty  wardrobe  packed  up  in  a  wallet,  she  set 
out  on  her  journey  on  foot.  She  was  to  walk  through  a  region, 
miserable  by  nature,  but  rendered  still  more  hideous  by  the 
Swedes  and  Russians,  who,  as  each  happened  to  become 
masters,  plundered  it  at  discretion ;  but  hunger  had  taught  her 
to  despise  the  danger  and  fatigues  of  the  way.  One  evening, 
upon  her  journey,  as  she  had  entered  a  cottage  by  the  way- 
side, to  take  up  her  lodging  for  the  night,  she  was  insulted  by 
two  Swedish  soldiers. 

6.  They  might,  probably,  have  carried  their  insults  into 
violence,  had  not  a  subaltern  officer,  accidentally  passing  by* 
come  to  her  assistance.  Upon  his  appearing,  the  soldiers  im- 
mediately desisted;  but  her  thankfulness  was  hardly  greater 
than  her  surprise,  when  she  instantly  recollected  in  ner  deliv- 
erer, the  son  of  the  Lutheran  minister,  her  former  instructer, 
benefactor,  and  friend. 

7.  This  was  a  happy  interview  for  Catharina.  The  little 
stock  of  money  she  had  brought  from  home  was,  by  this  time, 
quite  exhausted;  her  clothes  were  gone,  piece  by  piece,  in 
order  to  satisfy  those  who  had  entertained  her  in  their  houses  : 
her  generous  countryman,  therefore,  parted  with  what  he  could 
spare,  to  buy  her  clothes;  furnished  her  with  a  horse;  and 
gave  her  letters  of  recommendation  to  a  faithful  friend  of  his 
lather,  the  superintendent  of  Marienburgh. 


COBB  S    SEQUEL.  ^7 

$.  The  beautiful  stranger  was  well  received  at  Marienburgh. 
She  was  immediately  admitted  into  the  superintendent's  family, 
as  governess  to  his  two  daughters ;  and,  though  but  seventeen, 
showed  herself  capable  of  instructing  her  sex,  not  only  in  virtue, 
but  in  politeness.  Such  were  her  good  sense  and  beauty,  that 
her  master  himself,  in  a  short  time,  offered  her  his  hand,  which, 
to  his  great  surprise,  she  thought  proper  to  refuse.  Actuated 
by  a  principle  of  gratitude,  she  resolved  to  marry  her  deliverer 
only,  though  he  had  lost  an  arm,  and  was  otherwise  disfigured 
by  wounds  received  in  the  service. 

9.  In  order,  therefore,  to  prevent  farther  solicitations  from 
others,  as  soon  as  the  officer  came  to  town  upon  duty,  she 
offered  him  her  hand,  which  he  accepted  with  joy,  and  their 
nuptials  were  accordingly  solemnized.  But  all  the  lines  of 
her  fortune  were  to  be  striking.  The  very  day  on  which  they 
were  married,  the  Russians  laid  siege  to  Marienburgh.  The 
unhappy  soldier  was  immediately  ordered  to  an  attack,  from 
which  he  never  returned. 

10.  In  the  mean  time  the  siege  went  on  with  fury,  aggravated 
on  one  side  by  obstinacy,  on  the  other  by  revenge.  The  war  be- 
tween the  two  northern  powers  at  that  time  was  truly  barbarous : 
the  innocent  peasant,  and  the  harmless  virgin,  often  shared  the 
fate  of  the  soldier  in  arms.  Marienburgh  was  taken  by  assault ; 
and  such  was  the  fury  of  the  assailants,  that  not  only  the  gar- 
rison, but  almost  all  tne  inhabitants,  men,  women,  and  children, 
were  put  to  the  sword.  At  length,  when  the  carnage  was  pretty 
well  over,  Catharina  was  found  hid  in  an  oven. 

11.  She  had  hitherto  been  poor,  but  free;  she  was  now  to 
conform  to  her  hard  fate,  and  learn  what  it  was  to  be  a  slave. 
In  this  situation,  however,  she  behaved  with  piety  and  humility ; 
and  though  misfortunes  had  abated  her  vivacity,  yet  she  was 
cheerful.  The  fame  of  her  merit  and  resignation,  reached  even 
prince  Menzikoff,  the  Russian  general.  He  desired  to  see  her ; 
was  pleased  with  her  appearance ;  bought  her  from  the  soldier, 
her  master,  and  placed  her  under  the  direction  of  his  own  sister. 
Here  she  was  treated  with  all  the  respect  which  her  merit 
deserved,  while  her  beauty  every  day  improved  with  her  good 
fortune. 

12.  She  had  not  been  long  in  this  situation,  when  Peter  the 
Great  paying  the  prince  a  visit,  Catharina  happened  to  come 
in  with  some  dried  fruits,  which  she  served  round  with  peculiar 
modesty.  The  mighty  monarch  saw  her,  and  was  struck  with 
her  beauty.  He  returned  the  next  day ;  called  for  the  beau- 
tiful slave ;  asked  her  several  questions,  and  found  the  charms 
of  her  mind  superiour  even  to  those  of  her  person. 


148  cobb's  sequel; 

13.  Ite  had  been  forced,  when  young,  to  marry  from  motived 
of  interest :  he  was  now  resolved  to  marry  pursuant  to  his  own 
inclinations.  He  immediately  inquired  into  the  history  of  the 
fair  Livonian,  who  was  not  yet  eighteen.  He  traced  her  through 
the  vale  of  obscurity ;  through  the  vicissitudes  of  her  fortune  5 
and  found  her  truly  great  in  them  alL  The  mealiness  of  her 
birth  was  no  obstruction  to  his  design,  The  nuptials  were 
solemnized  in  private;  the  prince  declaring  to  his  courtiers* 
that  virtue  was  the  surest  ladder  to  a  throne. 

14*  We  how  see  Catharina,  raised  from  the  low,  mud^walled 
Cottage'*  to  be  emperess  of  the  greatest  kingdom  upon  earth. 
The  poor,  solitary  wanderer  is  now  surrounded  by  thousands* 
who  find  happiness  in  her  smile.  She,  who  formerly  wanted 
a  meal,  is  now  capable  of  diffusing  plenty  upon  whole  nations* 
To  her  good  fortune  she  owed  a  part  of  this  pre-eminence,  but 
to  her  virtues  more. 

15.  She  ever  after  retained  those  great  qualities  which  first 
placed  her  on  a  throne ;  and  while  the  extraordinary  prince* 
her  husband,  laboured  for  the  reformation  of  his  male  subjects, 
she  studied*  in  her  turn,  the  improvement  of  her  own  sex.  She 
altered  their  dresses ;  introduced  mixed  assemblies ;  instituted 
an  order  of  female  knighthood;  promoted  piety  and  virtue} 
and  at  length,  when  she  had  greatly  filled  all  the  stations  of* 
emperess,  friend,  wife,  and  mother,  bravely  died  without  regret* 
regretted  by  all.— Goldsmith. 


Lesson  xcvl 

May. 

1.  I  feel  a  newer  life  in  every  gale; 

The  winds,  that  fan  the  flowers, 
And  with  their  welcome  breathings  fill  the  sail* 
Tell  of  serener  hours ; 
Of  hours  that  glide  unfelt  away, 
Beneath  the  sky  of  May* 

ft*  The  spirit  of  the  gentle  south-wind  calls 
From  his  blue  throne  of  air, 
And  where  his  whispering  voice  in  musick  falls* 
Beauty  is  budding  there ; 
The  bright  ones  of  the  valley  break 
Their  slumbers,  and  aw;.ke. 


cgbb's  sequel.         ,  149 

3.  The  waving  verdure  rolls  along  the  plain, 

And  the  wide  forest  weaves, 
To  welcome  back  its  playful  mates  again, 
A  canopy  of  leaves ; 
And,  from  its  darkening  shadow,  floats 
A  gush  of  trembling  notes. 

4.  Fairer  and  brighter  spreads  the  reign  of  May; 

The  tresses  of  the  woods, 
With  the  light  dallying  of  the  west- wind  play; 
And  the  full-brimming  floods, 
As  gladly  to  their  goal  they  run, 
Hail  the  returning  sun. — J.  G.  Percival. 


LESSON  XCVII. 

The  Autumn  Evening. 

1.  Behold  the  western  evening  light ! 
It  melts  in  deepening  gloom ; 
So  calmly  Christians  sink  away 
Descending  to  the  tomb. 

%  The  winds  breathe  low,  the  withering  leaf 
Scarce  whispers  from  the  tree ; 
So  gently  flows  the  parting  breath, 
When  good  men  cease  to  be. 

3.  How  beautiful  on  all  the  hills 

The  crimson  light  is  shed ! 
'Tis  like  the  peace  the  Christian  gives 
To  mourners  round  his  bed. 

4.  How  mildly  on  the  wandering  cloud 

The  sunset  beam  is  cast ! 
'Tis  like  the  memory  left  behind 
When  loved  ones  breathe  their  last. 

5.  And  riw,  above  the  dews  of  night, 

The  yellow  star  appears ; 
So  faith  springs  in  the  heart  of  those 
Whose  eyes  are  bathed  in  tears. 
13* 


)5d 


6.  But  soon  the  morning's  happier  light 
Its  glory  shall  restore ; 
And  eyelids  that  are  sealed  in  death 

Shall  wake  to  close  no  more.— Peabod¥* 


LESSON  XCVIlI. 
Cultivation  of  Moral  Taste. 

1.  A  literary  taste,  while  it  has  its  principles  in  the  nature 
%i  the  mind,  is  formed  by  the  study  and  imitation  of  the  best 
models,  and  by  having  the  attention  habitually  directed  to  what 
Is  truly  beautiful.  Moral  taste  is  founded  in  like  manner  irt 
our  constitution,  is  cherished  and  cultivated  by  familiarity  with 
moral  beauty,  and  by  avoiding  whatever  has  a  tendency  to  im- 
pair the  love  of  what  is  right,  and  the  aversion  to  what  is  wrong* 

2.  As  our  opinion  of  duty  is  greatly  influenced  by  our  moral 
taste,  so*  on  the  other  hand,  moral  taste  is  much  affected  by 
our  judgement  of  what  is  right.  Hence  it  is,  above  all  things* 
necessary,  that  this  taste  should  be  founded  in  just  notions  of 
rectitude,  and  Supported  by  virtuous  conduct.  It  is  impossible 
that  he  should  long  love  virtue,  whose  actions  are  habitually  at 
Variance  with  her  principles  and  rules. 

3.  But  it  is  to  influences  more  remote  and  indirect,  influences 
less  suspected,  and,  therefore,  more  to  be  feared,  that  I  would 
call  your  attention.  There  are  many  circumstances,  which  do 
hot  solicit  us  to  violate  our  sense  of  duty,  which  yet  lessen  out 
Reverence  for  virtue,  and  abhorrence  of  vice,  and  thus  fatally 
break  down  the  barriers  to  practical  aberrations  from  the  course 
of  rectitude. 

4.  The  first  I  shall  mention  is  intimacy  with  sucii  individuals 
as  combine  amiable  qualities,  intelligent  minds,  and  cultivated 
manners,  with  a  disregard  of  principle^  and  corrupt  morals* 
As  bigotry,  cant,  and  superstition  often  give  a  disgusting,  ridicu- 
lous, or  repulsive  air  even  to  true  piety,  which  it  requires  no 
Ismail  effort  of  the  mind  td  separate  from  it ;  in  like  manner* 
vice  is  often  so  united  with  engaging  qualities,  that  it  is  either 
Xi  pardoned  for  the  association,  Or  lost  in  the  assemblage.'* 

5.  The  ingenuous  and  well  educated  youth  is  at  first,  per- 
haps, offended,  and  even  pained  by  the  indecent  allusion,  or 
profane  jest ;  but  they  are  uttered  in  such  good  company*  and 
teeasoned  with  so  much  wit,  that  they  are  forgiven,  as  the  venial 
tsrrours  of  a  good  heart    When  this  is  the  case,  it  is  too  cer-* 


cobb's  sequel.  151 

bin  they  will  soon  be  heard  with  indifference,  and  at  last  joined 
in  without  compunction. 

6.  The  same  effect  is  produced  by  two  classes  of  books.  The 
one,  where  the  power  of  the  writer  has  concealed  the  deformity 
of  vice  under  refinement  of  expression,  or  confounded  its  nature 
by  associating  it  with  qualities  which  arfe  interesting  and  amia- 
ble. Here,  perhaps,  the  delicacy  of  taste  is  not  so  milch 
impaired  as  its  correctness  perverted ;  it  is  not  insensibility* 
but  errour*  which  is  produced.  The  warmth  of  genius,  like 
that  of  the  tropical  sun,  has  Called  up  a  luxuriance  of  vegeta- 
tion ;  and  the  unwary  observer  is  unconscious  of  the  poisori 
♦hat  is  breathed  from  "flowers  so  sweet,  or  the  reptiles  that  hide 
under  foliage  so  beautiful. 

7.  But  there  is  another  class  of  books,  in  which  there  is  no  dis* 
guise ;  and  profligacy  and  vice  appear  without  a  veil ;  although* 
perhaps,  their  names  may  be  a  little  changed;  Drunken* 
ness  is  conviviality,  and  libertinism  warmth  of  constitution; 
Yet  there  is  so  much  to  awaken  curiosity  in  the  narrative*  sd 
much  of  humour,  of  truth,  and  of  human  nature  in  the  char- 
acters and  incidents,  that,  by  many,  the  faults  are  pardoned  foi* 
the  sake  of  the  excellencies*  till  these  very  faults  increase  the 
relish  of  the  whole. 

8.  I  have  heard  the  putting  of  such  books  into  the  hands  of 
the  young*  defended  by  an  argument  like  this ;  that  they  are  a 
sort  of  preparatory  discipline  for  the  temptations  of  real  life ; 
that  in  the  commerce  of  the  world,  the  young  cannot  but  be 
exposed  to  the  seductions  of  vice,  and  it  is  best  they  should 
know  beforehand  something  of  its  nature  and  power,  that  they 
may  be  the  better  able  to  withstand  them. 

9.  In  answer  to  this,  it  may,  I  think*  be  said,  that  those  cir* 
cumstances,  which  impair  the  delicacy  of  moral  feeling,  and 
silently  seduce  the  imagination  and  passions,  without  directly 
leading  to  conduct,  are  more  dangerous,  in  their  effects,  than 
temptations,  which  immediately  allure  us  to  act  wrong ;  because 
the  former,  calling  for  no  resistance,  and  producing  no  reac* 
tion,  leave  the  principles  of  virtue  enfeebled ;  whereas  the  latter* 
requiring  an  active  determination  of  the  will,  the  same  mind 
would  recoil  from  them  with  abhorrence.  Impressions  merely 
passive  steal  upon  the  heart,  and  pollute  the  sources  of  moral 
health ;  while  temptations,  counteracted  by  positive  resistance 
and  opposite  conduct,  produce  a  salutary  exercise,  by  which 
the  moral  powers  are  invigorated*-*— Frisbie. 


152  cobb's  sequel. 

LESSON  XCIX. 

The  Hermit. 

1.  At  the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  hamlet  is  still, 

And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetfulness  prove ; 
When  naught  but  the  torrent  is  heard  on  the  hill, 

And  naught  but  the  nightingale's  song  in  the  grove ; 
'Twas  then,  by  the  cave  of  the  mountain  afar, 

While  his  harp  rung  symphonious,  a  hermit  began; 
No  more  with  himself  or  with  nature  at  war, 

He  thought  as  a  sage,  while  he  felt  as  a  man : 

2.  "  Ah,  why  thus  abandoned  to  darkness  and  wo ; 

Why,  lone  Philomela,  that  languishing  fall  ? 
For  spring  shall  return,  and  a  lover  bestow, 

And  sorrow  no  longer  thy  bosom  inthral. 
But,  if  pity  inspire  thee,  renew  thy  sad  lay ; 

Mourn,  sweetest  complainer,  man  calls  thee  to  mourn : 
Oh,  sooth  him,  whose  pleasures,  like  thine,  pass  away, 

Full  quickly  they  pass,  but  they  never  return. 

3.  "  Now,  gliding  remote,  on  the  verge  of  the  sky, 

The  moon,  naif  extinguished,  her  crescent  displays; 
Bijt,  lately  I  marked,  when  majestick  on  high, 

She  shone,  and  the  planets  were  lost  in  her  blaze. 
Roll  on,  thou  fair  orb,  and  with  gladness  pursue 

The  path  that  conducts  thee  to  splendour  again : 
But  man's  faded  glory  no  change  shall  renew ! 

Ah,  fool !  to  exult  in  a  glory  so  vain  ! 

4.  "  'Tis  night,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  no  more ; 

I  mourn,  but,  ye  woodlands,  I  mourn  not  for  you, 
For  morn  is  approaching  your  charms  to  restore, 

Perfumed  with  fresh  fragrance,  and  glittering  with  dew. 
Nor  yet  for  the  ravage  of  winter  I  mourn : 

Kind  nature  the  embryo  blossom  will  save : 
But  when  shall  spring  visit  the  mouldering  urn ! 

Oh,  when  shall  it  dawn  on  the  night  of  the  grave !" 

5.  'Twas  thus,  by  the  glare  of  false  science  betrayed, 

That  leads  to  bewilder,  and  dazzles  to  blind, 
My  thoughts  wont  to  roam,  from  shade  onward  to  shade, 
Destruction  before  me  and  sorrow  behind : 


COBB's    SEQUEL.  15$ 

u  Oh,  pity,  great  Fathe*  of  light,"  then  I  cried, 

"  Thy  creature,  who  fain  would  not  wande#froni  thee } 

Lo,  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  my  pride ; 
From  doubt  and  from  darkness  thou  only  canst  free." 

&  And  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  flying  away : 

No  longer  I  roam  in  conjecture  forlorn. 
So  breaks  on  the  traveller,  faint  and  astray, 

The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of  morn* 
See  Truth,  Love,  and  Mercy,  in  triumph  descending, 

And  nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom  ! 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  Death  smiles  and  roses  are  blending* 

And  Beauty  immortal  Awakes  from  the  tomb» — Beattie. 


LESSON  C. 
Spirit  of  Freedom. 

1.  Spirit  of  Freedom  !  who  thy  home  hast  made 
In  wilds  and  wastes,  where  wealth  has  never  trod, 
Nor  bowed  her  coward  head  before  her  god, 
The  sordid  deity  of  fraudful  trade ; 

"Where  power  has  never  reared  his  iron  brow, 
And  glared  his  glance  of  terrour,  nor  has  blown 
The  maddening  trump  of  battle,  nor  has  flown 
His  blood-thirst  eagles :  where  no  flatterers  bow, 
And  kiss  the  foot  that  spurns  them ;  where  no  throne1*. 
Bright  with  the  spoils  from  nations  wrested,  towers, 
The  idol  of  a  slavish  mob,  who  herd, 
Where  largess  feeds  their  sloth  with  golden  showers *. 
And  thousands  hang  upon  one  tyrant's  Word. 

2.  Spirit  of  Freedom  !  thou,  who  dwellest  alone, 
Unblenched,  unyielding*  on  the  storm-beat  shore, 
And  findest  a  stirring  musick  in  its  roar, 

And  lookest  abroad  on  earth  and  sea,  thy  own, 

Far  from  the  city's  noxious  hold,  thy  foot 

Fleet  as  the  wild  deer  bounds,  as  if  its  breath 

Were  but  the  rankest,  foulest  steam  of  death ; 

Its  soil  were  but  the  dunghill,  where  the  root 

Of  every  poisonous  weed  and  baleful  tree 

Grew  vigorously  and  deeply,  till  their  shade 

Had  choked  and  killed  each  wholesome  plant,  and  laid 

In  rottenness  the  flower  of  Liberty* 


154  cobb's  sequel. 

Thou  fliest  to  the  desert,  and  its  sands 
Become  thy  welcome  shelter,  where  the  pure 
Wind  gives  its  freshness  to  thy  roving  bands, 
And  languid  weakness  finds  its  only  cure ; 
Where  few  their  wants,  and  bounded  their  desires, 
And  life  all  spring  and  action,  they  display 
Man's  boldest  flights,  and  highest,  warmest  fires, 
And  beauty  wears  her  loveliest  array. 

3.      Spirit  of  Freedom  !  I  would  with  thee  dwell, 
Whether  on  Africk's  sand,  or  Norway's  crags, 
Or  Kansa's  prairies,  for  thou  lovest  them  well, 
And  there  thy  boldest  daring  never  flags ; 
Or  I  would  launch  with  thee  upon  the  deep, 
And  like  the  peterel  make  the  wave  my  home, 
And  careless  as  the  sportive  sea-bird  roam ; 
Or  with  the  chamois  on  the  Alp  would  leap, 
And  feel  myself  upon  the  snow-clad  height, 
A  portion  of  that  undimmed  flow  of  light, 
No  mist  nor  cloud  can  darken ;  oh  !  with  thee, 
Spirit  of  Freedom  !  deserts,  mountains,  storms, 
Would  wear  a  glow  of  beauty,  and  their  forms 
Would  soften  into  loveliness,  and  be 
Dearest  of  earth,  for  there  my  soul  is  free. — Percival. 


LESSON  CI. 

Character  of  a  Christian  Mother, 

1.  What  a  publick  blessing,  what  an  instrument  of  the  most 
exalted  good,  is  a  virtuous  Christian  mother !  It  would  require 
a  far  other  pen  than  mine  to  trace  the  merits  of  such  a  char- 
acter. How  many  feel  that  they  owe  to  it  all  the  virtue  and 
piety  that  adorn  them  ;  or  may  recollect  at  this  moment  some 
«aint  in  heaven,  that  brought  them  into  light  to  labour  for  their 
happiness,  temporal  and  eternal ! 

2.  No  one  can  be  ignorant  of  the  irresistible  influence  which 
such  a  mother  possesses,  in  forming  the  hearts  of  her  children, 
at  a  season  when  nature  takes  in  lesson  and  example  at  every 
pore.  Confined  by  duty  and  inclination  within  the  walls  of 
ner  own  house,  every  hour  of  her  life  becomes  an  hour  of  in- 
struction ;  every  feature  of  her  conduct  a  transplanted  virtue. 

3.  Methinks  I  behold  her  encircled  by  her  beloved  charge, 


cobb's  sequel.  155 

like  a  being  more  than  human,  to  which, every  mind  is  bent,  and 
every  eye  directed ;  the  eager  simplicity  of  infancy  inhaling 
from  her  lips  the  sacred  truths  of  religion,  in  adapted  phrase 
and  familiar  story ;  the  whole  rule  of  their  moral  and  religious 
duties  simplified  for  easier  infusion.  The  countenance  of  this 
fond  and  anxious  parent,  all  beaming  with  delight  and  love, 
and  her  eye  raised  occasionally  to  heaven  in  fervent  supplica- 
tion for  a  blessing  on  her  work. 

4.  Oh !  what  a  glorious  part  does  such  a  woman  act  on  the 
great  theatre  of  humanity  ;  and  how  much  is  that  mortal  to  be 
pitied,  who  is  not  struck  with  the  image  of  such  excellence! 
When  I  look  to  its  consequences,  direct  or  remote,  I  see  the 
plants  she  has  raised  and  cultivated  spreading  through  the  com- 
munity with  the  richest  increase  of  fruit.  I  see  her  diffusing 
happiness  and  virtue  through  a  great  portion  of  the  human  race ; 
I  can  fancy  generations  yet  unborn  rising  to  prove,  and  to  hail 
ber  worth. — Kirw  an. 


LESSON  CII. 

Intelligence  of  the  People  a  Means  of  Safety  to  the  Government. 

1.  In  a  government  like  ours,  where  the  supreme  control 
depends  on  the  opinion  of  the  people,  it  is  important  certainly 
that  this  opinion  should  be  enlightened.  "  There  is  no  power 
on  earth  which  sets  up  its  throne  in  the  spirit  and  souls  of  men, 
and  in  their  hearts  and  imaginations,  their  assent  also  and  belief, 
equal  to  learning  and  knowledge ;  and  there  is  scarce  one  in- 
stance brought  of  a  disastrous  government,  where  learned  men 
have  been  seated  at  the  helm." 

2.  Now  the  most  certain  mode  of  making  learned  rulers,  is  to 
extend  as  far  as  possible  the  influence  of  learning  to  the  people 
from  whom  the  rulers  are  taken.  But  intelligence  not  only 
makes  good  rulers,  it  makes  peaceable  citizens.  It  causes  men 
to  have  just  views  of  the  nature,  value,  and  relations  of  things, 
the  purposes  of  life,  the  tendency  of  actions,  to  be  guided  by 
purer  motives,  to  form  nobler  resolutions,  and  press  forward  to 
more  desirable  attainments. 

3.  Laws  will  be  obeyed,  because  they  are  understood  and 
rightly  estimated.  Men  will  submit  cheerfully  to  good  govern- 
ment, and  consult  the  peace  of  society,  in  proportion  as  they 
learn  to  respect  themselves,  and  value  their  own  character. 
These  things  are  the  fruit  of  knowledge.     But  ignorance  is  a 


156  COBB'S    SEQUEL. 

soil  which  gives  exuberant  growth  to  discords,  delusions,  and  - 
the  dark  treacheries  of  faction. 

4.  While  the  people  are  ignorant,  they  are  perpetually  sub« 
ject  to  false  alarms,  and  violent  prejudices,  ready  to  give  a 
loose  rein  to  the  wild  storms  of  their  passions,  and  prepared 
to  yield  themselves  willing  victims  to  the  seductions  of  every 
ambitious,  turbulent,  treacherous,  and  faithless  spirit,  who  may 
choose  to  enlist  them  in  his  cause.  Knowledge  will  work 
upon  this  charm  with  a  potent  efficacy,  lay  the  hideous  spectres 
which  it  calls  up,  and  preserve  the  soundness  and  growing 
strength  of  the  social  and  political  fabrick. 

5.  It  should  be  considered  the  glory,  and  the  duty  of  the 
government,  to  aid  in  establishing  morals  and  religion.  The 
first  step  in  accomplishing  this  purpose  is  to  fix  the  principles 
of  virtue,  and  impress  the  importance  of  religious  practice,  by 
enlarging  the  sphere  of  mental  light,  touching  the  springs  of 
curiosity,  opening  the  channels  of  inquiry,  and  pouring  into  the 
mind  new  materials  of  thought  and  reflection. 

6.  All  branches  of  intellectual  improvement  will  lead  to  moral 
goodness.  The  mind  which  is  taught  to  expatiate  throughout 
the  works  of  God,  to  ascend  to  the  heavenly  worlds  andf  find 
him  there,  to  go  into  the  deep  secrets  of  nature  and  find  him 
there,  to  examine  the  wonders  of  its  own  structure,  and  look 
abroad  into  the  moral  constitution  of  things,  and  perceive  the 
hand  of  an  invisible,  Almighty  Being,  giving  laws  to  the  whole, 
will  be  impressed  with  a  sense  of  its  own  dependance,  and  feel 
something  of  the  kindling  flame  of  devotion, 

7.  It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  resist  it.  And  so  the  man 
who  begins  to  study  the  organization  of  society,  the  mutual 
relations  and  dependances  of  its  parts,  its  objects,  and  the 
duties  it  imposes  on  those  who  enjoy  its  benefits,  will  soon  be 
made  to  respect  its  institutions,  value  its  privileges,  and  practise 
the  moral  virtues,  in  which  its  very  existence  consists. 

8.  The  more  extensively  these  inquiries  are  encouraged,  and 
these  principles  inculcated,  in  the  elements  of  education,  the 
greater  will  be  the  certainty  of  mora}  elevation  of  character, 
and  the  brighter  the  prospects  of  a  virtuous  community.  In 
regard  to  religion,  ignorance  is  its  deadliest  bane.  It  gathers 
the  clouds  of  prejudice  from  all  the  dark  corners  of  the  mind, 
and  causes  them  to  brood  over  the  understanding,  and  too  often 
the  heart,  with  a  dismal,  chilling  influence. 

9.  It  gives  perpetuity  to  errour,  defies  the  weapons  of  argu- 
ment and  reason,  and  is  impassive  even  to  the  keen  sword  of 
eternal  truth.  To  bring  into  salutary  action  these  two  great 
instrument*  of  human  happiness,  morals,  and  religion,  nothing 


COBB'S    SEQUEL.  15f 

is  of  so  much  importance,  as  to  multiply  the  facilities  of  educa* 
tion,  and  quicken  the  spirit  of  enlightened  inquiry. 

10.  Through  the  medium  of  education  the  government  may 
give  a  stronger  impulse  to  the  arts,  and  help  to  build  up  the 
empire  of  the  sciences.  Before  men  can  invent,  or  make  pro- 
found discoveries,  they  must  be  taught  to  think.  Savages 
never  advance  a  step  farther  in  inventions  and  discoveries,  than 
they  are  compelled  by  their  wants.  The  external  comforts  of 
civilized  life  depend  on  the  useful  arts,  which  an  improved 
state  of  the  intellect  has  brought  to  light. 

11.  In  the  sciences,  and  in  literature,  we  have  a  vast  uncul- 
tivated field  before  us.  In  the  arts  of  traffick,  and  the  mysteries 
of  gain,  we  may,  perhaps,  be  contented  with  the  skill  we  pos-» 
sess.  But  to  be  contented  with  our  progress  in  the  sciences 
and  literature,  and  all  those  attainments,  which  chiefly  dignify 
and  adorn  human  nature,  would  argue  an  obtuseness  and  apathy 
altogether  unworthy  of  a  people,  who  are  blessed  with  so  many 
political,  civil,  and  local  advantages  of  various  kinds,  as  the 
inhabitants  of  the  United  States. — North  American  Review* 


LESSON  CIIL 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 

1.  The  breaking  waves  dashed  high 

On  a  stern  and  rock-bound  coast ; 
And  the  woods,  against  a  stormy  sky, 
Their  giant  branches  tossed ; 

2.  And  the  heavy  night  hung  dark, 

The  hills  and  waters  o'er, 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 
On  the  wild  New  England  shore. 

3.  Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted,  came  ; 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 
And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame : 

4.  Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear  ; 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's  gloom 
With  their  hvmns  of  lofty  cheer, 

1.4 


J58  cobb's  sequel. 

5.  Amid  the  storm  they  sang, 

And  the  stars  heard,  and  the  sea ; 
And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
To  the  anthem  of  the  free. 

6.  The  ocean-eagle  soared 

From  his  nest,  by  the  white  wave's  foam, 
And  the  rocking  pines  of  the  forest  roared : 
This  was  their  welcome  home. 

7.  There  were  men  with  hoary  hair 

Amid  that  pilgrim  band  : 
Why  had  they  come  to  wither  there, 
Away  from  their  childhood's  land? 

8.  There  was  woman's  fearless  eye, 

Lit  by  her  deep  love's  truth ; 
There  was  manhood's  brow  serenely  high, 
And  the  fiery  heart  of  youth, 

9.  What  sought  they  thus  afar  ? 

Bright  jewels  of  the  mine  ? 
The  wealth  of  seas  ?  the  spoils  of  war  I 
They  sought  a  faith's  pure  shrine. 

10.  Ay,  call  it  holy  ground, 

The  soil  where  first  they  trod  i 
They  have  left  unstained  what  there  they  found, 
Freedom  to  worship  God! — Mrs.  Hemans 


LESSON  CIV. 

The  Hypocrite. 

1.      Great  day  of  revelation !  in  the  grave 
The  hypocrite  had  left  his  mask ;  and  stood 
In  naked  ugliness.     He  was  a  man 
Who  stole  the  livery  of  the  court  of  heaven 
To  serve  the  evil  one ;  in  virtue's  guise 
Devoured  the  widow's  house  and  orphan's  bread  •. 
In  holy  phrase  transacted  villanies 
That  common  sinners  durst  not  meddle  with. 
At  sacred  feast  he  sat  among  the  saints, 
And  with  his  guilty  hands  touched  holiest  things* 


cobb's  sequel.  159 

2.  And  none  of  sin  lamented  more,  or  sighed 
More  deeply,. or  with  graver  countenance, 
Or  longer  prayer,  wept  o'er  the  dying  man, 
Whose  infant  children,  at  the  moment,  he 
Planned  how  to  rob :  in  sermon  style  he  bought. 
And  sold,  and  lied ;  and  salutations  made 

In  Scripture  terms  :  he  prayed  by  quantity, 

And  with  his  repetitions  long  and  loud, 

All  knees  were  weary ;  with  one  hand  he  put 

A  penny  in  the  urn  of  poverty, 

And  with  the  other  took  a  shilling  out. 

3.  On  charitable  lists,  those  trumps  which  told 
The  publick  ear  who  had  in  secret  done 
The  poor  a  benefit,  and  half  the  alms 

They  told  of,  took  themselves  to  keep  them  sounding; 

He  blazed  his  name,  more  pleased  to  have  it  there 

Than  in  the  book  of  life.     Seest  thou  the  man ! 

A  serpent  with  an  angel's  voice  !  a  grave 

With  flowers  bestrewed  !  and  yet  few  were  deceived. 

4.  His  virtues  being  over-done,  his  face 
Too  grave,  his  prayers  too  long,  his  charities 
Too  pompously  attended,  and  his  speech 
Larded  too  frequently,  and  out  of  time 
With  serious  phraseology,  were  rents 
That  in  his  garments  ope'd  in  spite  of  him, 
Through  which  the  well  accustomed  eye  could  see 
The  rottenness  of  his  heart. — Pollok. 


LESSON  CV. 

i 

Mental  Improvement. 

1.  No  man  is  obliged  to  learn  and  know  every  thing,  for  it  is 
utterly  impossible  ;  yet  all  persons  are  under  some  obligation 
to  improve  their  own  understanding.  Universal  ignorance  or 
infinite  errours  will  overspread  the  mind  which  is  neglected, 
and  lies  without  cultivation.  Skill  in  the  sciences  is,  indeed,  the 
business  and  profession  but  of  a  small  part  of  mankind ;  but 
there  are  many  others  placed  in  such  a  rank  in  the  world,  as 
allows  them  much  leisure  and  large  opportunities  to  cultivate 
their  reason,  and  enrich  their  minds  with  various  knowledge. 

2.  The  common  duties  and  benefits  of  society  which  belong 


160  COBB's   SEQUEL. 

to  every  mail  living,  and  even  our  necessary  relations  to  a 
family,  a  neighbourhood,  or  government,  oblige  all  persons* 
whatsoever  to  use  their  reasoning  powers  upon  a  thousand 
occasions ;  every  hour  of  life  calls  for  some  regular  exercise 
of  our  judgement  as  to  times  and  things,  persons  and  actions ; 
without  a  prudent  and  discreet  determination  in  matters  before 
us,  we  shall  be  plunged  into  perpetual  errours  in  our  conduct. 
Now,  that  which  should  always  be  practised,  must  at  some  time 
be  learned. 

3.  Besides,  every  son  and  daughter  of  Adam  has  a  most  im« 
portant  concern  in  the  affairs  of  a  life  to  come,  and,  therefore, 
it  is  a  matter  of  the  highest  moment  for  every  one  to  under- 
stand, to  judge,  and  to  reason  right  about  the  things  of  religion* 
It  is  vain  for  any  to  say,  we  have  no  leisure  or  time  for  it. 

4.  The  daily  intervals  of  time,  and  vacancies  from  necessary 
labour,  together  with  the  one  day  in  seven  in  the  Christian 
world,  allow  sufficient  opportunity  for  this,  if  men  would  but 
apply  themselves  to  it  with  half  so  much  zeal  and  diligence  as 
they  do  to  the  trifles  and  amusements  of  this  life ;  and  it  would 
turn  to  infinitely  better  account. 

5.  There  are  five  eminent  means  or  methods  whereby  the 
mind  is  improved  in  the  knowledge  of  things ;  and  these  are 
observation,  reading,  instruction  by  lectures,  conversation,  and 
meditation,  which  last,  in  a  peculiar  manner*  is  called  study. 

6.  Observation  is  the  notice  that  we  take  of  all  occurrences 
in  human  life,  whether  they  are  sensible  or  intellectual,  whether 
relating  to  persons  or  things*  to  ourselves  or  others.  It  is  this 
that  furnishes  us,  even  from  our  infancy,  with  a  rich  variety  of 
ideas  and  propositions,  words  and  phrases. 

7.  All  those  things  which  we  see,  hear,  or  feel,  which  we  per* 
ceive  by  sense  or  consciousness,  or  which  we  know  in  a  direct 
manner,  with  scarce  any  exercise  of  our  reflecting  faculties  or 
our  reasoning  powers,  may  be  included  under  the  general  name 
of  observation.  There  is  no  time  or  place,  no  transactions, 
occurrences,  or  engagements  in  life,  which  exclude  us  from 
this  method  of  improving  the  mind. 

8.  Reading  is  that  means  of  knowledge,  whereby  we  acquaint 
ourselves  with  the  affairs,  actions,  and  thoughts  of  the  living 
and  the  dead,  in  the  most  remote  nations,  and  most  distant  ages. 
By  reading,  we  learn  not  only  the  actions  and  sentiments  of  dif- 
ferent nations  and  ages,  but  transfer  to  ourselves  the  knowledge 
and  improvements  of  the  most  learned  men,  the  wisest  and  best 
of  mankind. 

9.  It  is  another  advantage  of  reading,  that  we  may  review 
what  we  have  read ;  we  may  consult  the  page  again  and  again, 


cobb's  sequel.  161 

and  meditate  on  it  at  successive  periods  in  our  retired  hours. 
Unless  a  reader  has  an  uncommon  and  most  retentive  memory, 
there  is  scarcely  any  book  or  chapter  worth  reading  once,  that 
is  not  worthy  of  second  perusal. 

10.  Publick  or  private  lectures  are  such  verbal  instructions 
as  are  given  by  a  teacher  while  the  learners  attend  in  silence. 
An  instructer,  when  he  paraphrases  and  explains  other  authors, 
can  mark  out  the  precise  point  of  difficulty  or  controversy,  and 
unfold  it.  When  he  teaches  us  natural  philosophy,  or  most 
parts  of  mathematical  learning,  he  can  convey  to  our  senses 
those  notions,  with  which  he  would  furnish  our  minds.  He 
can  make  the  experiments  before  our  eyes.  He  can  describe 
figures  and  diagrams,  point  to  the  lines  and  angles,  and  by 
sensible  means  make  out  the  demonstration  in  a  more  intelli- 
gible manner. 

11.  Conversation  is  that  method  of  improving  our  minds, 
wherein,  by  mutual  discourse  and  inquiry,  we  learn  the  senti- 
ments of  others,  as  well  as  communicate  our  own.  By  friendly 
conference,  not  only  the  doubts  which  arise  in  the  mind  upon 
any  subject  of  discourse  are  easily  proposed  and  solved,  but 
the  very  difficulties  we  meet  with  in  books  and  in  our  private 
studies  may  find  a  relief.  A  man  of  vast  reading,  without 
conversation,  is  like  a  miser,  who  lives  only  to  himself. 

12.  Meditation,  or  study,  includes  all  those  exercises  of  the 
mind,  whereby  we  render  all  the  former  methods  useful,  for 
our  increase  in  true  knowledge  and  wisdom.  By  meditation 
we  fix  in  our  memory  whatsoever  we  learn,  and  form  our  own 
judgement  of  the  truth  or  falsehood,  the  strength  or  weakness  of 
what  others  speak  or  write. 

13.  Neither  our  own  observation,  nor  reading  the  works  of 
the  learned,  nor  attendance  on  the  best  lectures  of  instruction, 
nor  enjoying  the  brightest  conversation,  can  ever  make  a  man 
truly  knowing  and  wise,  without  the  labours  of  his  own  reason 
in  surveying,  examining,  and  judging,  concerning  all  subjects 
upon  the  best  evidence  ne  can  acquire. — Watts. 


LESSON  CV1. 

The  Broken-hearted  Woman. 


1.  How  many  bright  eyes  grow  dim ;  how  many  soft  cheeks 
grow  pale ;  how  many  lovely  forms  fade  away  into  the  tomb, 
and  none  can  tell  the  cause  that  blighted  their  loveliness.  As 
the  dove  will  clasp  its  wings  to  its  side,  and  cover  and  conceal 


16$  COBb's    SEQUEL. 

the  arrow  that  is  preying  on  its  vitals,  so  it  is  the  nature  of 
woman  to  hide  from  the  world  the  pangs  of  wounded  affection. 

2.  The  love  of  a  delicate  female  is  always  shy  and  silent, 
Even  when  fortunate  she  scarcely  breathes  it  to  herself;  but 
wh&n  otherwise,  she  buries  it  in  the  recesses  of  her  boson i» 
and  there  lets  it  cower  and  brood  among  the  ruins  of  her  peace* 
With  her  the  desire  of  the  heart  has  failed. 

3.  The  great  charm  of  existence  is  at  an  end.  She  neglects  all 
the  cheerful  exercises  that  gladden  the  spirits,  quicken  the  pulses, 
and  send  the  tide  of  life  in  healthful  currents  through  the  veins. 
Her  rest  is  broken ;  the  sweet  refreshment  of  sleep  is  poisoned 
by  melancholy  dreams ;  "  dry  sorrow  drinks  her  blood,"  until 
her  enfeebled  frame  sinks  under  the  least  external  assailmefit. 

4.  Look  for  her  after  a  little  while,  and  you  find  friendship 
weeping  over  her  untimely  grave,  and  wondering  that  one* 
who  but  lately  glowed  with  all  the  radiance  of  nealth  and 
beauty,  should  now  be  brought  down  to  "darkness  and  the 
worm."  You  will  be  told  of  some  wintry  chill,  some  slight 
indisposition,  that  laid  her  low ;  but  no  one  knows  the  mental 
malady  that  previously  sapped  her  strength,  and  made  her  so 
easy  a  prey  to  the  spoiler. 

5.  She  is  like  some  tender  tree,  the  pride  and  beauty  of  the 
grove;  graceful  in  its  form,  bright  in  its  foliage,  but  with  the  worm 
preying  at  its  core.  We  find  it  suddenly  withering,  when  it 
should  be  most  fresh  and  luxuriant.  We  see  it  drooping  its 
branches  to  the  earth,  and  shedding  leaf  by  leaf;  until,  wasted 
and  perished  away,  it  falls  even  in  the  stillness  of  the  forest ;  and 
as  we  muse  over  the  beautiful  ruin,  we  strive  in  vain  to  recollect 
the  blast  or  thunderbolt  that  could  have  smitten  it  with  decay. 

6.  I  have  seen  many  instances  of  women  running  to  waste 
and  self-neglect,  and  disappearing  gradually  from  the  earth, 
almost  as  if  they  had  been  exhaled  to  heaven  ;  and  have  repeat- 
edly fancied  that  I  could  trace  their  deaths  through  the  various 
declensions  of  consumption,  colds,  debility,  languor,  melan- 
choly, until  I  reached  the  first  symptom  of  disappointed  love. 

W.  Irving. 


LESSON  CVII. 

Summer  Morning. 

Sweet  the  beams  of  rosy  morning, 
Silent  chasing  gloom  away ; 

tovely  teints  the  sky  adorning, 
Harbingers  of  opening  day? 


cobb's  sequel.  108 

See  the  king  of  day  appearing, 

Slow  his  progress  and  serene ; 
Soon  I  feel  the  influence,  cheering, 

Of  this  grand  and  lovely  scene! 

2.  Lovely  songsters  join  their  voices, 

Harmony  the  grove  pervades ; 
All  in  nature  now  rejoices, 

Light  and  joy  succeed  the  shades. 
Stars  withdraw,  and  man  arises, 

To  his  labour  cheerful  goes  ; 
Day's  returning  blessings  prizes, 

And  in  praise  his  pleasure  shows ! 

3.  May  each  morn,  that,  in  succession, 

Adds  new  mercies  ever  flowing, 
Leave  a  strong  and  deep  impression 

Of  my  debt,  for  ever  growing ! 
Debt  of  love,  ah  !  how  increasing ! 

Days  and  years  fresh  blessings  bring ; 
But  my  praise  shall  flow  unceasing, 

And  my  Maker's  love  I'll  sing ! 


LESSON  CVIII. 
Nothing  Formed  in  Vain, 

1.  Let  no  presuming  impious  railer  tax 
Creative  wisdom,  as  if  aught  was  formed 
In  vain,  or  not  for  admirable  ends. 
Shall  little  haughty  Ignorance  pronounce 
His  works  unwise,  of  which  the  smallest  part 
Exceeds  the  narrow  vision  of  her  mind ! 

As  if  upon  a  full  proportioned  dome, 
On  swelling  columns  heaved,  the  pride  of  art ! 
A  critick-fly,  whose  feeble  ray  scarce  spreads 
An  inch  around,  with  blind  presumption  bold, 
Should  dare  to  tax  the  structure  of  the  whole ! 

2.  And  lives  the  man,  whose  universal  eye 

Has  swept  at  once  the  unbounded  scheme  of  things  : 
Marked  their  dependance  so,  and  firm  accord, 
As  with  unfaltering  accent  to  conclude, 


164  cobb's  sequel* 

That  this  availeth  naught !  Has  any  seen 

The  mighty  chain  of  beings,  lessening  down 

From  infinite  perfection  to  the  brink 

Of  dreary  nothing,  desolate  abyss  ! 

From  which  astonished  thought,  recoiling,  turns? 

Till  then  alone  let  zealous  praise  ascend, 

And  hymns  of  holy  wonder,  to  that  power, 

Whose  wisdom  shines  as  lovely  in  our  minds, 

As  on  our  smiling  eyes  his  servant  sun.— Thomson* 


LESSON  CIX. 
Description  of  Arabia. 

1.  In  the  vacant  space  between  Persia,  Syria,  Egypt,  and 
Ethiopia,  the  Arabian  peninsula  may  be  conceived  as  a  trian- 
gle of  spacious  but  irregular  dimensions.  From  the  northern 
point  of  Beles  on  the  Euphrates,  a  line  of  fifteen  hundred 
miles  is  terminated  by  the  straits  of  Babelmandel  and  the  land 
of  frankincense. 

2.  About  half  this  length  may  be  allowed  for  the  middle 
breadth,  from  east  to  west,  from  Bassora  to  Suez,  from  the  Per- 
sian gulf  to  the  Red  sea.  The  sides  of  the  triangle  are  gradually 
enlarged,  and  the  southern  basis  presents  a  front  of  a  thousand 
miles  to  the  Indian  ocean. 

3.  The  entire  surface  of  the  peninsula  exceeds  in  a  fourfold 
proportion  that  of  Germany  or  France ;  but  the  far  greater 
part  has  been  justly  stigmatized  with  the  epithets  of  the  stony 
and  the  sandy.  Even  the  wilds  of  Tartary  are  decked  by  the 
hand  of  nature  with  lofty  trees  and  luxuriant  herbage ;  and  the 
lonesome  traveller  derives  a  sort  of  comfort  and  society  from 
the  presence  of  vegetable  life. 

4.  But  in  the  dreary  waste  of  Arabia,  a  boundless  level  of 
sand  is  intersected  by  sharp  and  naked  mountains,  and  the  face 
of  the  desert,  without  shade  or  shelter,  is  scorched  by  the 
direct  and  intense  rays  of  a  tropical  sun. 

5.  Instead  of  refreshing  breezes,  the  winds,  particularly  from 
the  southwest,  diffuse  a  noxious  and  even  deadly  vapour;  the 
hillocks  of  sand,  which  they  alternately  raiye  and  scatter,  are 
compared  to  the  billows  of  the  ocean ;  and  whole  caravans, 
whole  armies,  have  been  lost  and  buried  in  the  whirlwind. 
The  comon  benefits  of  water  are  an  object  of  desire  and  con- 
test ;  and  such  is  the  scarcity  of  wood,  that  some  art  is  requisite 
to  preserve  and  propRg-ate  the  elements  of  fire. 


COBB's    SEQrEL,  165 

6.  Arabia  is  destitute  of  navigable  rivers,  which  fertilize  the 
soil,  and  convey  its  produce  to  the  adjacent  regions :  the  tor- 
rents that  fall  from  the  hills  are  imbibed  by  the  thirsty  earth : 
the  rare  and  hardy  plants,  the  tamarind  or  the  acacia,  that  strike 
their  roots  into  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  are  nourished  by  the 
dews  of  the  night:  a  scanty  supply  of  rain  is  collected  in  cis- 
terns and  aqueducts :  the  wells  and  springs  are  the  secret  treasure 
of  the  desert ;  and  the  pilgrim  of  Mecca,  after  many  a  dry  and 
sultry  march,  is  disgusted  by  the  taste  of  the  waters  which  have 
rolled  over  a  bed  of  sulphur  or  salt. 

7.  Such  is  the  general  and  genuine  picture  of  the  climate  of 
Arabia.  The  experience  of  evil  enhances  the  value  of  any  local 
or  partial  enjoyments.  A  shady  grove,  a  green  pasture,  a  stream 
of  fresh  water,  are  sufficient  to  attract  a  colony  of  sedentary 
Arabs  to  the  fortunate  spots,  which  can  afford  food  and  refresh- 
ment to  themselves  and  their  cattle,  and  which  encourage  their 
industry  in  the  cultivation  of  the  palm-tree  and  the  vine. 

8.  The  high  lands,  that  border  on  the  Indian  ocean,  are  dis- 
tinguished by  their  superiour  plenty  of  wood  and  water :  the 
air  is  more  temperate,  the  fruits  are  more  delicious,  the  animals 
and  the  human  race  more  numerous :  the  fertility  of  the  soil 
invites  and  rewards  the  toil  of  the  husbandman ;  and  the  pecu- 
liar gifts  of  frankincense  and  coffee,  have  attracted,  in  different 
ages,  the  merchants  of  the  world. — Gibbon. 


LESSON  CX. 

Ttust  in  the  Care  of  Providence  Recommended. 

1.  Man,  considered  in  himself,  is  a  very  helpless,  and  a  very* 
wretched  being.  He  is  subject  every  moment  to  the  greatest 
calamities  and  misfortunes.  He  is  beset  with  dangers  on  all 
sides;  and  may  become  unhappy  by  numberless  casualties, 
which  he  could  not  foresee,  nor  have  prevented  had  he  fore* 
seen  them. 

2.  It  is  our  comfort,  wrhile  we  are  obnoxious  to  so  many 
accidents,  that  we  are  under  the  care  of  one  who  directs  con- 
tingencies, and  has  in  his  hands  the  management  of  every  thing 
that  is  capable  of  annoying  or  offending  us ;  who  knows  the 
assistance  we  stand  in  need  of,  and  is  always  ready  to  bestow 
it  on  those  who  ask  it  of  him. 

3.  The  natural  homage  which  such  a  creature  owes  to  so 
infinitely  wise  and  good  a  Being,  is  a  firm  reliance  on  him  for 


k; 


166  cobb's  sequel. 

the  blessings  and  conveniences  of  life ;  and  an  habitual  trust 
in  him,  for  deliverance  out  of  all  such  dangers  and  difficulties 
as  ma)''  befall  us. 

4.  The  man  who  always  lives  in  this  disposition  of  mind, 
has  not  the  same  dark  and  melancholy  views  of  human  nature, 
as  he  who  considers  himself  abstractedly  from  this  relation  to 
the  Supreme  Being.  At  the  same  time  that  he  reflects  upon 
his  own  weakness  and  imperfection,  he  comforts  himself  with 
the  contemplation  of  those  divine  attributes,  which  are  em- 
ployed for  his  safety  and  his  welfare.  He  finds  his  want  of 
foresight  made  up,  by  the  omniscience  of  him  who  is  his  sup- 

ort.     He  is  not  sensible  of  his  own  want  of  strength,  when  he 
nows  that  his  helper  is  almighty. 

5.  In  short,  the  person  who  has  a  firm  trust  in  the  Supreme 
Being,  is  powerful  in  his  power,  wise  by  his  wisdom,  happy 
oy  his  happiness.  He  reaps  the  benefit  of  every  divine  attri- 
bute ;  and  loses  his  own  insufficiency  in  the  fulness  of  infinite 
perfection.  To  make  our  lives  more  easy  to  us,  we  are  com- 
manded to  put  our  trust  in  him,  who  is  thus  able  to  relieve  and 
succour  us ;  the  Divine  Goodness  having  made  such  a  reliance 
a  duty,  notwithstanding  we  should  have  been  miserable  had  it 
been  forbidden  us. 

6.  Among  several  motives  which  might  be  made  use  of  to 
recommend  this  duty  to  us,  I  shall  only  take  notice  of  those 
that  follow.  The  first  and  strongest  is,  that  we  are  promised 
he  will  not  fail  those  who  put  their  trust  in  him.  But  without 
considering  the  supernatural  blessing,  which  accompanies  this 
duty,  we  may  observe,  that  it  has  a  natural  tendency  to  its  own 
reward ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  this  firm  trust  and  confidence 
in  the  great  Disposer  of  all  things,  contribute  very  much  to  the 
getting  clear  of  any  affliction,  or  to  the  bearing  of  it  manfully. 

7.  A  person  who  believes  he  has  his  succour  at  hand,  and 
that  he  acts  in  the  sight  of  his  friend,  often  exerts  himself  be- 
yond his  abilities ;  and  does  wonders,  that  are  not  to  be  matched 
by  one  who  is  not  animated  with  such  a  confidence  of  success. 
Trust  in  the  assistance  of  an  Almighty  Being,  naturally  pro- 
duces patience,  hope,  cheerfulness,  and  all  other  dispositions 
of  mind,  which  alleviate  those  calamities  that  we  are  not  able 
to  remove. 

8.  The  practice  of  this  virtue  administers  great  comfort  to 
the  mind  of  man  in  times  of  poverty  and  affliction ;  but  most 
of  all,  in  the  hour  of  death.  When  the  soul  is  hovering,  in  the 
last  moments  of  its  separation;  when  it  is  just  entering  on 
another  state  of  existence,  to  converse  with  scenes,  and  objects, 
and  companions,  that  are  altogether  new;  what  can  support 


cobb's  sequel.  107 

her  under  such  tremblings  of  thought,  such  fear,  such  anxiety, 
such  apprehensions,  but  the  casting  of  all  her  cares  upon  him, 
who  first  gave  her  being ;  who  has  conducted  her  through  one 
stage  of  it ;  and  who  will  be  always  present  to  guide  and  com" 
fort  her  in  her  progress  through  eternity  ? — Addison. 


LESSON  CXI, 
The  Respect  due  to  all  Men. 

1 .  Let  those  whose  riches  have  purchased  for  them  the  page 
of  knowledge,  regard  with  respect  the  native  powers  of  them 
to  whose  eyes  it  has  never  been  unrolled.  The  day-labourer,  and 
the  professor  of  science,  belong  naturally  to  the  same  order 
of  intelligences.  Circumstances  and  situation  have  made  all 
the  difference  between  them.  The  understanding  of  one  has 
been  free  to  walk  whither  it  would  :  that  of  the  other  has  been 
shut  up  and  deprived  of  the  liberty  of  ranging  the  fields  of 
knowledge.  Society  has  condemned  it  to  the  dungeon  of 
ignorance,  and  then  despises  it  for  being  in  the  dark. 

2.  There  have  been  multitudes  that  would  have  added  to  the 
sum,  or  have  embellished  the  form,  of  human  knowledge,  if 
their  youth  had  been  taught  the  rudiments,  and  their  life  allowed 
thtm  leisure  to  prosecute  the  pursuit  of  it.  The  attention  that 
would  have  been  crowned  with  splendid  successes  in  the  inquiry 
after  truth,  has  all  been  expended  in  the  search  after  bread. 

3.  The  curiosity  that  would  have  penetrated  to  the  secrets 
of  nature,  explored  the  recesses  of  mind,  and  compassed  the 
records  of  time,  has  been  choked  by  the  cares  of  want.  The 
fancy,  that  would  have  glowed  with  a  heat  divine,  and  made  a 
brilliant  addition  to  the  blazing  thoughts  and  burning  words 
of  the  poetical  world,  has  been  chilled  and  frozen  by  the  cold 
winds  of  poverty. 

4.  Many  a  one,  who  cannot  read  what  others  wrote,  had  the 
knowledge  of  elegant  letters  been  given  him,  would  himself 
have  written  what  ages  might  read  with  delight.  He  that 
ploughs  the  ground,  had  he  studied  the  heavens,  might  have 
understood  the  stars  as  well  as  he  understands  the  soil.  Many 
a  sage  has  lain  hid  in  the  savage,  and  many  a  slave  was  made 
to  be  an  emperour. 

5.  Blood,  says  the  pride  of  life,  is  more  honourable  than 
money.  Indigent  nobility  looks  down  upon  untitled  opulence. 
This  sentiment,  pushed  a  little  farther,  leads  to  the  point  I  am 


109  cobb's  sequel. 

pursuing.     Mind  is  the  noblest  part  of  the  man ;  and  of  mind, 
virtue  is  the  noblest  distinction. 

6.  Honest  man,  in  the  ear  of  Wisdom,  is  a  grander  name, 
is  a  more  high-sounding  title,  than  peer  of  the  realm,  or  prince 
of  the  blood.  According  to  the  eternal  rules  of  celestial  pre- 
cedency, in  the  immortal  heraldry  of  Nature  and  of  Heaven, 
Virtue  takes  place  of  all  things.  It  is  the  nobility  of  angels  { 
It  is  the  majesty  of  God  ! — Fawcett. 


LESSON  CXII. 

Virtue,  the  only  True  Happiness. 

1.  I  saw  the  virtuous  man  contend 
With  life's  unnumbered  woes ; 
And  he  was  poor,  without  a  friend, 
Pressed  by  a  thousand  foes. 

%  I  saw  the  Passions'  pliant  slave. 
In  gallant  trim,  and  gay ; 
His  course  was  Pleasure's  placid  wave> 
His  life,  a  summer's  day. 

3*  And  I  was  caught  in  Folly's  snare, 
And  joined  her  giddy  train ; 
But  found  her  soon  the  nurse  of  care> 
And  punishment,  and  pain. 

4.  There  surely  is  some  guiding  power* 
Which  rightly  suffers  wrong ; 
Gives  Vice  to  bloom  its  little  hour, 
But  Virtue  late  and  long.— Camoens, 


LESSON  CXIII. 

The  Mutual  Relation  between  Sleep  and  Night. 

1.  The  relation  of  sleep  to  night  appears  to  have  been  ex- 
pressly intended  by  our  benevolent  Creator.  Two.  points  are 
manifest ;  first,  that  the  animal  frame  requires  sleep  \  secondly, 
that  night  brings  with  it  a  silence,  and  a  cessation  of  activity, 
which  allow  of  sleep  being  taken  without  interruption,  and. 
without  loss. 


cobb's  sequel.  169 

%  Animal  existence  is  made  up  of  action  and  slumber: 
nature  has  provided  a  season  for  each.  An  animal  which  stood 
not  in  need  of  rest,  would  always  live  in  daylight.  An  animal, 
which,  though  made  for  action,  and  delighting  in  action,  must 
have  its  strength  repaired  by  sleep,  meets,  by  its  constitution, 
the  returns  of  day  and  night. 

3.  In  the  human  species,  for  instance,  were  the  bustle,  the 
labour,  the  motion  of  life  upheld  by  the  constant  presence  of 
light,  sleep  could  not  be  enjoyed  without  being  disturbed  by 
noise,  and  without  expense  of  that  time  which  the  eagerness 
of  private  interest  would  not  contentedly  resign. 

4.  It  is  happy,  therefore,  for  this  part  of  the  creation,  I  mean 
that  it  is  conformable  to  the  frame  and  wants  of  their  constitu- 
tion, that  nature,  by  the  very  disposition  of  her  elements,  has 
commanded,  as  it  were,  and  imposed  upon  them,  at  moderate 
intervals,  a  general  intermission  of  their  toils,  their  occupations, 
and  their  pursuits. 

5.  But  it  is  not  for  man,  either  solely  or  principally,  that 
night  is  made.  Inferiour,  but  less  perverted  natures,  taste  its 
solace,  and  expect  its  return  with  greater  exactness  and  advan- 
tage than  he  does.  I  have  often  observed,  and  never  observed 
but  to  admire,  the  satisfaction,  no  less  than  the  regularity,  with 
which  the  greatest  part  of  the  irrational  world  yield  to  this  soft 
necessity,  mis  grateful  vicissitude  ;  how  comfortably  the  birds 
of  the  air,  for  example,  address  themselves  to  the  repose  of 
the  evening ;  with  what  alertness  they  resume  the  activity  of 
the  day. 

6.  Nor  does  it  disturb  our  argument  to  confess,  that  certain 
species  of  animals  are  in  motion  during  the  night,  and  at  rest  in 
the  day.  With  respect  even  to  them,  it  is  still  true,  that  there  is 
a  change  of  condition  in  the  animal,  and  an  external  change  cor- 
responding with  it.  There  is  still  the  relation,  though  inverted. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  repose  of  other  animals  sets  these  at  liberty, 
and  invites  them  to  their  food  or  their  sport. 

7.  If  the  relation  of  sleep  to  night,  and  in  some  instances,  its 
converse,  be  real,  we  cannot  reflect  without  amazement  upon 
the  extent  to  which  it  carries  us.  Day  and  night  are  things 
close  to  us  ;  the  change  applies  immediately  to  our  sensations ; 
of  all  the  phenomena  of  nature,  it  is  the  most  obvious,  and  the 
most  familiar  to  our  experience ;  but,  in  its  cause,  it  belongs  to 
the  great  motions  which  are  passing  in  the  heavens. 

8.  While  the  earth  glides  round  her  axle,  she  ministers  to 
the  alternate  necessity  of  the  animals  dwelling  upon  her  surface, 
at  the  same  time  that  she  obeys  the  influence  of  those  attractions 
which  regulate  the  order  of  many  thousand  worlds.     The  rela- 

15 


170  cobb's  sequel. 

tion,  therefore,  of  sleep  to  night,  is  the  relation  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  earth  to  the  rotation  of  their  globe  :  probably  it  is 
more ;  it  is  a  relation  to  the  system,  of  which  that  globe  is  a 
part;  and,  still  farther,  to  the  congregation  of  systems,  of  which 
theirs  is  only  one.  If  this  account  be  true,  it  connects  the 
meanest  individual  with  the  universe  itself;  a  chicken,  roosting 
upon  its  perch,  with  the  spheres  revolving  in  the  firmament. 

Paley. 


LESSON  CXIV. 

National  Glory. 

1.  We  are  asked,  what  have  we  gained  by  the  war  ?  I  have 
shown  that  we  have  lost  nothing  in  rights,  territory,  or  honour ; 
nothing  for  which  we  ought  to  have  contended,  according  to 
the  principles  of  the  gentlemen  on  the  other  side,  or  accord- 
ing to  our  own.  Have  we  gained  nothing  by  the  war  ?  Let 
any  man  look  at  the  degraded  condition  of  this  country  before 
the  war,  the  scorn  of  the  universe,  the  contempt  of  ourselves, 
and  tell  me  if  we  have  gained  nothing  by  the  war  ? 

2.  What  is  our  present  situation  ?  Respectability  and  char* 
acter  abroad,  security  and  confidence  at  home.  If  we  have  not 
obtained,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  the  full  measure  of  retribution, 
our  character  and  constitution  are  placed  on  a  solid  basis  never 
to  be  shaken. 

3.  The  glory  acquired  by  our  gallant  tars,  by  our  Jacksons, 
and  our  Browns  on  the  land,  is  that  nothing  ?  True,  we  had 
our  vicissitudes;  there  were  humiliating  events  which  the  patriot 
cannot  review  without  deep  regret;  but  the  great  account, 
when  it  comes  to  be  balanced,  will  be  found  vastly  in  our 
favour. 

4.  Is  there  a  man  who  would  obliterate  from  the  proud  pages 
of  our  history,  the  brilliant  achievements  of  Jackson,  Brown, 
and  Scott,  and  the  host  of  heroes  on  land  and  sea,  whom  I 
cannot  enumerate  ?  Is  there  a  man  who  could  not  desire  a 
participation  in  the  national  glory  acquired  by  the  war  ?  Yes, 
national  glory,  which,  however  the  expression  may  be  con- 
demned by  some,  must  be  cherished  by  every  genuine  patriot. 

5.  What  do  I  mean  by  national  glory  ?  Glory  such  as  Hull, 
Jackson,  and  Perry  have  acquired.  And  are  gentlemen  insensi- 
ble to  their  deeds,  to  the  value  of  them  in  animatingthe  country 
in  the  hour  of  peril  hereafter?  Did  the  battle  of  Thermopylae 
preserve  Greece  but  once  ? 


COBB  V  SEQUEL.  171 

6.  While  the  Mississippi  continues  to  bear  the  tributes  of 
the  Iron  Mountains  and  the  Alleganies  to  her  Delta  and  to  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  the  eighth  of  January  shall  be  remembered, 
and  the  glory  of  that  day  shall  stimulate  future  patriots,  and 
nerve  the  arms  of  unborn  freemen  in  driving  the  presumptuous 
invader  from  our  country's  soil. 

7.  Gentlemen  may  boast  of  their  insensibility  to  feelings  in- 
spired by  the  contemplation  of  such  events.  But  I  would  ask, 
does  the  recollection  of  Bunker's  hill,  Saratoga,  and  Yorktovvn 
afford  them  no  pleasure  ?  Every  act  of  noble  sacrifice  to  the 
country,  every  instance  of  patriotick  devotion  to  her  cause  has 
its  beneficial  influence. 

8.  A  nation's  character  is  the  sum  of  its  splendid  deeds ;  they 
constitute  one  common  patrimony,  the  nation's  inheritance. 
They  awe  foreign  powers,  they  arouse  and  animate  our  own 
people.  T  love  true  glory.  It  is  this  sentiment  which  ought 
to  be  cherished ;  and,  in  spite  of  cavils,  and  sneers,  and  attempts 
to  put  it  down,  it  will  finally  conduct  this  nation  to  that  height 
to  which  God  and  nature  have  destined  it. — Clay. 


LESSON  CXV. 

A  Character  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  down  to  the  period  of  Ms 
Exile  to  Elba. 

1.  He  is  fallen !  We  may  now  pause  before  that  splendid 
prodigy,  which  towered  among  us  like  some  ancient  ruin, 
whose  frown  terrified  the  glance  its  magnificence  attracted. 

2.  Grand,  gloomy,  and  peculiar,  he  sat  upon  the  throne,  a 
sceptred  hermit,  wrapped  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  originality* 
A  mind  bold,  independent,  and  decisive ;  a  will  despotick  in 
its  dictates ;  an  energy  that  distanced  expedition,  and  a  con- 
science pliable  to  every  touch  of  interest,  marked  the  outline 
of  this  extraordinary  character ;  the  most  extraordinary,  per- 
haps, that,  in  the  annals  of  this  world,  ever  rose,  or  reigned, 
or  felL 

3.  Flung  into  life  in  the  midst  of  a  revolution,  that  quickened 
every  energy  of  a  people  who  acknowledged  no  superiour,  he 
commenced  his  course,  a  stranger  by  birth,  and  a  scholar  by 
charity ! 

4.  With  no  friend  but  his  sword,  and  no  fortune  but  his 
talents,  he  rushed  into  the  lists,  where  rank,  and  wealth,  and 
genius  had  arrayed  themselves,  and  competition  fled  from  him 


172  cobb's  sequel. 

as  from  the  glance  of  destiny.  He  knew  no  motive  but  interest ; 
he  acknowledged  no  criterion  but  success ;  he  worshipped  no 
God  but  ambition ;  and  with  an  eastern  devotion  he  knelt  at 
the  shrine  of  his  idolatry.  Subsidiary  to  this,  there  was  no 
creed  that  he  did  not  profess ;  there  was  no  opinion  that  he 
did  not  promulgate :  in  the  hope  of  a  dynasty,  he  upheld  the 
crescent;  for  the  sake  of  a  divorce,  he  bowed  before  the  cross : 
the  orphan  of  St.  Louis,  he  became  the  adopted  child  of  the  re- 
publick ;  and  with  a  parricidal  ingratitude,  on  the  ruins  both  of 
the  throne  and  the  tribune,  he  reared  the  throne  of  his  despotism. 

5.  A  professed  catholick,  he  imprisoned  the  pope ;  a  pre- 
tended patriot,  he  empoverished  the  country ;  and  in  the  name 
of  Brutus,  he  grasped,  without  remorse,  and  wore,  without 
shame,  the  diadem  of  the  Cesars  ! 

6.  Through  this  pantomime  of  his  policy,  Fortune  played 
the  clown  to  his  caprices.  At  his  touch,  crowns  crumbled, 
beggars  reigned,  systems  vanished  ;  the  wildest  theories  took 
the  colour  of  his  whim,  and  all  that  was  venerable,  and  all  that 
was  novel,  changed  places  with  the  rapidity  of  a  drama.  Even 
apparent  defeat  assumed  the  appearance  of  victory ;  his  flight 
from  Egypt  confirmed  his  destiny ;  ruin  itself  only  elevated 
him  to  empire. 

7.  But  if  his  fortune  was  great,  his  genius  was  transcendent ; 
decision  flashed  upon  his  councils ;  and  it  was  the  same  to 
decide  and  to  perform.  To  inferiour  intellects,  his  combinations 
appeared  perfectly  impossible,  his  plans  perfectly  impractica- 
ble ;  but,  in  his  hands,  simplicity  marked  their  developement, 
and  success  vindicated  their  adoption.  His  person  partook 
the  character  of  his  mind ;  if  the  one  never  yielded  in  the 
cabinet,  the  other  never  bent  in  the  field. 

8.  Nature  had  no  obstacles  that  he  did  not  surmount ;  space 
no  opposition  that  he  did  not  spurn ;  and  whether  amid  Alpine 
rocks,  Arabian  sands,  or  polar  snows,  he  seemed  proof  against 
peril,  and  empowered  with  ubiquity !  The  whole  continent 
of  Europe  trembled  at  beholding  the  audacity  of  his  designs, 
and  the  miracle  of  their  execution.  Skepticism  bowed  to  the 
prodigies  of  his  performance ;  romance  assumed  the  air  of  his- 
tory; nor  was  there  aught  too  incredible  for  belief,  or  too 
fanciful  for  expectation,  when  the  world  saw  a  subaltern  of 
Corsica  waving  his  imperial  flag  over  her  most  ancient  capitals. 
All  the  visions  of  antiquity  became  common  places  in  his  con- 
templation :  kings  were  his  people ;  nations  were  his  outposts  ; 
and  he  disposed  of  courts,  and  crowns,  and  camps,  and  churches, 
and  cabinets,  as  if  they  were  the  titular  dignitaries  of  the  chess- 
board ! 


m 

9.  Amid  all  these  changes  he  stood  immutable  as  adamant. 
It  mattered  little  whether  in  the  field  or  the  drawing-room ; 
With  the  mob  or  the  levee ;  wearing  the  jacobin  bonnet  or  the 
iron  crown ;  banishing  a  Braganza,  or  espousing  a  Hapsburgh ; 
dictating  peace  on  a  raft  to  the  czar  of  Russia,  or  contemplating 
defeat  at  the  gallows  of  Leipsick ;  he  was  still  the  same  mili* 
tary  despot ! 

10*  Cradled  in  the  camp,  he  was  to  the  last  houf  the  darling 
of  the  army ;  and  whether  in  the  camp  or  the  cabinet,  he  never 
forsook  a  friend  or  forgot  a  favour.  Of  all  his  soldiers,  not 
one  abandoned  him,  till  affection  was  useless,  and  their  first 
stipulation  was  for  the  safety  of  their  favourite. 

11.  They  knew  well  that  if  he  was  lavish  of  them,  he  was 
prodigal  of  himself;  and  that  if  he  exposed  them  to  peril,  he 
repaid  them  with  plunder.  For  the  soldier,  he  subsidized  every 
people ;  to  the  people  he  made  even  pride  pay  tribute.  The 
victorious  veteran  glittered  with  his  gains ;  and  the  capital, 
gorgeous  with  the  spoils  of  art,  became  the  miniature  metropolis 
of  the  universe. 

12.  In  this  wonderful  combination,  his  affection  of  literature 
must  not  be  omitted.  The  jailer  of  the  press,  he  affected  the 
patronage  of  letters ;  the  proscriber  of  books,  he  encouraged 
philosophy ;  the  persecutor  of  authors,  and  the  murderer  of 
printers,  he  yet  pretended  to  the  protection  of  learning !  the 
assassin  of  Palm,  the  silencer  of  De  Stael,  and  the  denouncer 
of  Kotzebue,  he  was  the  friend  of  David,  the  benefactor  of 
De  Lille*  and  sent  his  academick  prize  to  the  philosopher  of 
England* 

13.  Such  a  medley  of  contradictions,  and  at  the  same  time 
such  an  individual  consistency,  were  never  united  in  the  same" 
character.  A  royalist?  a  republican  and  an  emperour;  a 
mahometan ;  a  catholick  and  a  patron  of  the  synagogue ;  a  sub- 
altern and  a  sovereign ;  a  traitor  and  a  tyrant ;  a  Christian  and 
an  infidel :  he  was,  through  all  his  vicissitudes,  the  same  stern, 
impatient,  inflexible  original ;  the  same  mysterious,  incompre* 
hensible  self;  the  man  without  a  model,  and  without  a  shadow. 

14.  His  fall*  like  his  life,  baffled  all  speculation.  In  short, 
his  whole  history  was  like  a  dream  to  the  world,  and  no  man 
can  tell  how  or  why  he  was  awakened  from  the  revery.  Such 
is  a  faint  and  feeble  picture  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the 
first  (and  it  is  to  be  hoped  the  last)  emperour  of  the  French. 

15.  That  he  has  done  much  evil  there  is  little  doubt ;  that 
he  has  been  the  origin  of  much  good  there  is  Just  as  little. 
Through  his  means,  intentional  or  not,  Spain,  Portugal,  and 
France  have  arisen  to  the  blessings  of  a  free  constitution ;  super* 


174  COBB'S    SEQUEL* 

stition  has  found  her  grave  in  the  ruins  of  the  inquisition ;  and 
the  feudal  system,  with  its  whole  train  of  tyrannick  satellites! 
has  fled  for  ever. 

16.  Kings  may  learn  from  him,  that  their  safest  study,  as  well 
as  their  noblest,  is  the  interest  of  the  people :  the  people  are 
taught  by  him,  that  there  is  no  despotism  so  stupendous  against 
which  they  have  not  a  resource  :  and  to  those  who  would  rise 
upon  the  ruins  of  both,  he  is  a  living  lesson,  that  if  ambition 
can  raise  them  from  the  lowest  station,  it  can  also  prostrate 
them  from  the  highest. — Phillips. 


LESSON  CXVI. 
Account  of  the  Quicksilver  Mines  in  Idria,  in  Carniola^  Germany. 

1.  Next  morning  we  proceeded,  during  an  hour,  over  the 
same  barren  country.  Of  a  sudden,  the  road  seems  to  disap- 
pear right  before  the  eyes  of  the  traveller,  and  he  finds  himself 
on  the  brink  of  a  huge  hollow  in  the  mountains.  The  effect  is 
singular  and  striking.  He  looks  down  into  the  whole  of  this 
kettle,  surrounded  on  every  side  by  irregular,  towering  crags, 
which  are  here  and  there  tufted  with  patches  of  fir,  but  in  gen- 
eral exhibit  only  the  naked  and  dreary  rock. 

2.  The  picture  was  entirely  changed  by  the  mist  in  which 
every  thing  was  enveloped.  The  morning  was  not  sufficiently 
advanced ;  the  sun,  though  bright  and  warm  above,  had  not  yet 
penetrated  into  the  gulf,  which  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  white, 
fleecy  vapour,  into  which  the  road  seemed  to  descend,  as  if  into 
mere  air. 

3.  All  around  the  rugged  cliffs  rose  above  its  surface,  like 
the  rocky  shores  of  a  mountain  lake,  and  imagination  could 
assign  no  depth  to  the  abyss  over  which  its  light  and  hovering 
mantle  was  spread.  As  the  sun  came  nearer  the  meridian,  the 
vapour  began  to  rise  slowly,  but  without  dividing  itself  into 
those  distinct,  and  rapidly  ascending  columns,  which  often  pro- 
duce such  fantastick  appearances,  in  the  higher  passages  of  the 
Swiss  Alps. 

4.  In  a  short  time  the  whole  kettle  was  visible,  terminating 
below  in  a  narrow,  irregular  valley.  The  Idria,  issuing  at  once 
from  the  mountains  on  the  south,  rushed  along  in  the  bottom. 
On  the  crags,  which,  circling  round,  seemed  to  shut  out  this  spot 
from  all  communication  with  the  world,  not  a  cottage  was  to 
be  seen,  for  they  are  too  precipitous  ;  and  only  here  and  there 
a  few  scanty  patches  of  cultivation,  for  they  are  too  barren. 


cobb's  sequel*  175 

5%  In  the  centre  of  the  valley,  and  about  seven  hundred  feet 
below  the  brink,  the  eye  rested  on  the  little  town  of  Idria,  and 
the  huts  scattered  round  the  base  of  the  mountain  which  con- 
tains the  entrance  to  the  mines. 

6.  The  discovery  of  these  mercurial  mines,  like  that  of  so 
many  other  mines,  is  attributed  to  accident.  A  Carniolian  peas- 
ant who  drove  a  small  trade  in  wooden  vessels,  was  in  the  habit 
of  groping  his  way  into  this  recess,  at  that  time  entirely  covered 
with  wood,  to  procure  materials  for  his  tubs  and  pails,  which 
he  sometimes  finished  on  the  spot.  He  had  placed  some  pails 
in  a  small  pool,  in  a  rivulet  which  issued  from  the  mountain, 
for  the  purpose  of  "seasoning"  them,  as  we  should  express  it. 
To  keep  them  under  water,  he  put  into  them  a  quantity  of  sand 
taken  from  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

7.  In  the  morning  he  found  all  his  strength  scarcely  sufficient 
to  lift  one  of  them  out  of  the  water.  He  could  ascribe  this  only 
to  the  weight  of  the  sand,  which  he  had  thrown  in  by  handfuls 
the  evening  before  ;  sand  so  heavy  was  to  him  a  phenomenon, 
and  he  carried  some  of  it  to  the  pastor  of  his  village.  The 
latter,  suspecting  what  might  be  the  reason,  sent  it  to  the  im- 
perial director  of  mines,  and,  on  examination,  it  was  found  to 
contain  above  half  its  weight  of  quicksilver. 

8.  The  whole  of  what  now  constitutes  the  department  of 
Idria,  was  immediately  declared  a  domain  of  the  crown ;  but 
the  mines  were  first  worked  by  private  adventurers  on  leases, 
and  the  miners  have  still  preserved  various  traditions  of  the 
ruin  of  some,  and  the  difficulties  which  all  of  these  speculators 
had  to  encounter.  The  shafts  were  driven  deep  in  the  solid 
rock,  but  no  quicksilver  appeared. 

9.  One  after  another  the  speculators  drew  back  from  the 
undertaking,  and  it  centred,  at  last,  in  one  who  was  more  san- 
guine and  persevering.  But  he,  too,  hoped  and  laboured  in  vain ; 
and  the  destitution,  into  which  he  had  plunged  his  family  by  the 
unsuccessful  adventure,  brought  him  to  his  grave.  His  widow 
was  compelled  to  give  up  the  operations ;  but  the  workmen 
declared  they  would  still  make  an  attempt  for  the  family  of  him 
who  had  so  long  given  them  bread,  and  continued  the  search 
fourteen  days  longer,  without  wages. 

10.  The  fourteenth  of  these  days  arrived,  but  no  quicksilver 
appeared.  Toward  the  afternoon,  the  workmen,  who  had  been 
annoyed  all  day  long  by  sulphureous  vapour  and  a  more  un- 
comfortable atmosphere  than  usual,  were  about  to  give  up 
their  task  for  ever  in  despondency,  and  prepare  to  celebrate, 
above  ground,  the  festival  of  their  patron  saint,  of  which  this 
happened  to  be  the  eve,  when  a  shout  from  the  lowest  part  of 


I7C  COBB*S   SEQUEL 

the  shaft,  announced  that  the  deep  concealed  vein  had,  at  length* 
been  dragged  from  its  lurking  place. 

11.  The  saint  was  postponed,  and  the  mercury  pursued.  It 
was  soon  ascertained  that  the  labours  and  expense  of  years 
would  be  amply  repaid;  The  revived  widow  prudently  sold 
her  remaining  right  to  the  government ;  and,  since  that  period* 
during  more  than  four  hundred  years,  Idria  has  not  ceased  to 
pour  its  thousands  into  the  imperial  treasury. 

12.  The  entrance  to  the  mine  is  a  little  to  the  southward  of 
the  town*  in  the  side  of  a  small  hillock,  which  rises  in  front  of 
the  mountainous  wall  that  surrounds  the  dell.  The  visiter 
puts  on  a  miner's  dress.  It  is  not  only  necessary  to  leave 
behind  watches,  rings,  snuffboxes,  and  similar  articles,  which 
would  infallibly  be  affected  by  the  quicksilver ;  but,  for  the 
same  reason,  the  accompanying  miner  insists  on  your  dispen- 
sing with  all  coats  and  waistcoats,  which  have  metal  buttons. 

13.  In  every  case  a  miner's  dress  is  at  once  more  convenient, 
and  more  independent  of  the  moisture  and  rubbings,  which 
may  be  encountered  below  ground,  although,  in  this  beautiful 
mine,  there  is  little  to  be  apprehended  from  either*  The  miners 
have  not  yet  ceased  their  jokes  on  two  ladies,  who  went  down 
with  some  fashionable  company,  during  the  Congress  in  the 
neighbouring  Laybach,  and  returned,  the  one  with  her  gold 
watch  converted  into  a  tin  trinket  by  the  quicksilver,  and  the 
fair  cheeks  and  neck  of  the  other  bedaubed  with  the  blackness 
of  falsehood  by  the  sulphur. 

14.  The  descent  can  be  made  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  mine 
in  less  than  five  minutes,  in  one  of  the  large  buckets  in  which 
the  ore  is  brought  above  ground*  This  mode  though  the  less 
fatiguing,  is  not,  therefore,  better ;  for,  in  descending  the  shaft 
on  foot,  one  can  observe  much  better  the  care  and  regularity 
with  which  all  the  operations  have  been  carried  on,  particularly 
in  latter  times* 

15.  From  the  first  step*  daylight  is  excluded;  for  the  passage, 
hewn  in  the  rock,  descends  at  a  very  acute  angle  :  were  it  a 
smooth  surface,  it  would  be  impracticable.  Excepting  the  steep- 
ness, it  has  no  other  inconvenience.  Instead  of  clambering 
down  a  wet,  slippery,  wooden  ladder,  as  in  Freyburgh,  you 
descend  on  successive  flights  of  steps,  as  regular  as  if  they  had 
been  constructed  for  a  private  dwelling. 

16.  Here  and  there  are  landing  places,  where  galleries  branch 
off,  through  which  veins  have  been  followed,  or  the  shaft  de-« 
scends  in  a  new  direction.  This  is  the  regular  mode  in  which 
the  mining  is  carried  on,  from  the  surface  of  the  earth  to  the 
lowest  part   of  the  mine,  forming  a  subterraneous  staircase 


cobb's  sequel.  177 

descending  about  seven  hundred  feet ;  for  the  mine  as  yet  is  no 
deeper,  owing  to  the  superabundance  and  richness  of  the  ore. 
All  is  pierced  in  the  hard  limestone  rock. 

17.  A  still  more  useful  degree  of  care  has  been  bestowed  on 
the  walls  and  ceilings.  Instead  of  leaving  the  bare,  rugged 
rock,  as  is  still  frequently  done  elsewhere,  or  supporting  the 
roof  with  wood,  as  was  in  former  times  the  universal  practice, 
this  passage  into  the  earth  is  lined  with  a  strong  wall  of  hewn 
stone,  arched  above ;  so  that  the  descent  is,  in  reality,  through 
a  commodious  vaulted  passage,  about  four  feet  wide,  and,  in 
average  height,  rather  more  than  six. 

18.  The  walling  with  stone  is  preferable,  both  in  security 
and  duration,  to  the  old  custom  of  lining  and  supporting  the 
shafts  with  wood ;  the  increasing  scarcity  and  value  of  wood 
have,  likewise,  made  it  the  cheaper  mode.  Neither  is  the 
labour  so  great  as  at  first  sight  might  be  imagined.  The  stones 
used  are  those  cut  out  in  carrying  the  shaft  itself  downward. 

19.  All  the  trouble  in  transporting  them  along  a  gallery  to 
the  bottom  of  the  perpendicular  shaft,  by  which  the  ore  and 
rubbish  are  conveyed  above  ground,  is  thus  saved.  No  mine 
could  be  more  fortunate  in  regard  to  the  absence  of  water. 
A  slight  degree  of  moisture  on  the  walls  and  ceiling  is  all  that 
can  be  occasionally  traced.  The  atmosphere  is  perfectly  dry 
and  comfortable,  except  in  the  neighbourhood  of  rich  veins. 

20.  The  only  unpleasant  accompaniment  of  the  ore  is  the 
sulphur  which  almost  universally  attends  it ;  its  fumes  were 
strongest  in  the  lowest  galleries.  The  miners  have  learned  to 
consider  it  as  a  prognostick  of  good  ore ;  for  it  is  universally 
observed,  that  the  richer  the  vein  is  the  greater  is  the  quantity 
of  sulphur;  they  have  never  pure  air  and  good  ore  together. 

21.  But  neither  the  action  of  the  sulphur,  nor  of  the  mercury, 
on  the  health  and  appearance  of  the  workmen,  is  at  all  so 
striking  as  it  has  sometimes  been  represented.  That  the  mer- 
cury brings  on  a  periodical  salivation,  is  merely  a  joke.  Its 
effects  are  most  observable  on  the  teeth,  which  are  generally 
deficient  and  discoloured. 

22.  The  preparatory  processes,  through  which  the  ore  must 
pass  before  being  finally  carried  to  the  roasting  ovens,  are  per- 
formed on  the  other  side  of  the  town,  on  the  banks  of  the  Idria. 
But  it  is  only  with  the  inferiour  ores  that  such  processes  are 
necessary ;  all  that  are  held  to  contain  sixty-five  per  cent,  of 
quicksilver,  or  upwards,  are  put  immediately  into  the  oven. 

23.  This  may  be  represented  as  a  square  building,  divided 
by  brick  floors  into  five  or  six  compartments.  These  floors  are 
not  continuous,  but  are  pierced  with  a  number  of  holes,  that  the 


178  cobb's  sequel. 

flame  and  smoke  may  ascend  from  the  one  to  the  other.  The" 
ore  is  spread  out  upon  them,  the  apertures  being  left  uncovered- 
The  fire  is  kindled  between  the  lowest  floor  and  the  ground, 
and  every  outlet  and  crevice  in  the  whole  fabrick  is  then  care- 
fully shut. 

24  The  action  of  the  fire,  gradually  extending  itself  from  one 
layer  to  another,  through  the  openings  in  the  floors,  separates 
the  quicksilver  from  its  accompanying  fossils ;  it  rises,  sub- 
limated, along  with  the  smoke,  to  the  top,  from  whence  it 
has  no  passage  but  by  flues,  which  are  led  through  the  walls 
in  a  winding  direction,  that  it  may  cool  by  continued  circulation. 

25*  As  it  cools,  the  pure  quicksilver  is  precipitated,  and  de- 
scends, by  internal  communications  between  the  flues,  to  the 
lower  part  of  the  wall.  The  fire  is  kept  up,  till  it  is  ascertained 
by  the  disappearance  of  vapours,  that  all  the  mercury  has  been 
disengaged ;  nor  are  the  outlets  opened,  till  the  whole  is  so 
cool  that  all  the  quicksilver  must  have  been  deposited. 

26.  The  metal  is  found  deposited  in  hollows  at  the  bottom 
of  the  walls,  made  on  purpose  to  receive  it,  and  communicating 
with  the  flues.  The  sulphur  is  gained  at  the  same  time.  The 
quicksilver  is  then  tied  up  in  sheep  or  goat  skins  prepared  with 
alum,  these  having  been  found  to  be  the  cheapest  and  most 
convenient  of  the  materials  which  will  contain  mercury  without 
being  injured. — Russel. 


Lesson  cxvil 

A  Mother  to  her  Sleeping  Infant. 

1.  Sleep  on,  dear  child,  nor  let  me  wake 

Such  peaceful  dreams  as  thine ; 
But  gently  press  thy  lips,  to  take 
One  kiss,  to  sweeten  mine. 

2.  Ah,  sorrow !  must  thine  impress  fall 

On  this  fair,  polished  brow ! 
And  must  time's  furrows  fasten  here, 
Where  all  is  softness  now  ? 

3.  Yes,  age,  with  anxious  care,  will  come, 

And  leave  his  gloomy  trace ; 
-  Yet  never,  to  thy  mother's  eyes, 
Less  fair  will  beam  that  face. 


cobb's  sequel.  179 

4.  Oh,  no,  my  child ;  when  trials  rise, 

And  pain  and  sorrow  come  ; 
Here  rest  thy  head,  upon  my  breast, 
And  let  it  be  thy  home, 

5.  Should  foes  obstruct  thy  path,  my  son, 

And  changing  friendship  flee ; 
Yet  ever  constant  will  prove  one  ! 
Thy  mother  it  will  be.— A.  M.  T. 


LESSON  CXVIII, 

Extract  from  an  Oration  on  the  Virtues  of  General  Washington^ 
pronounced  the  Sth  of  February,  1800. 

1.  It  is  natural  that  the  gratitude  of  mankind  should  be  drawn 
to  their  benefactors.  A  number  of  these  have  successively 
arisen,  who  were  no  less  distinguished  for  the  elevation  of 
their  virtues  than  the  lustre  of  their  talents.  Of  those,  how- 
ever, who  were  born,  and  who  acted  through  life  as  if  they 
were  born  not  for  themselves,  but  for  their  country  and  the 
whole  human  race,  how  few  are  recorded  in  the  long  annals 
of  ages,  and  how  wide  the  intervals  of  time  and  space  that 
divioo  them. 

2.  In  all  this  dreary  length  of  way,  they  appear  like  five  or 
six  lighthouses  on  as  many  thousand  miles  of  coast;  they 
gleam  upon  the  surrounding  darkness  with  an  inextinguishable 
splendour,  like  stars  seen  through  a  mist ;  but  they  are  seen 
like  stars,  to  cheer,  to  guide,  and  to  save. 

3.  Washington  is  now  added  to  that  small  number.  Already 
he  attracts  curiosity,  like  a  newly  discovered  star,  whose  be* 
nignant  light  will  travel  on  to  the  world's  and  time's  farthest 
bounds.  Already  his  name  is  hung  up  by  history  as  conspicu- 
ously as  if  it  sparkled  in  one  of  the  constellations  of  the  sky. 

4.  By  commemorating  his  death,  we  are  called  this  day  to 
yield  the  homage  that  is  due  to  his  virtue ;  to  confess  the  com- 
mon debt  of  mankind  as  well  as  our  own ;  and  to  pronounce 
for  posterity,  now  dumb,  that  eulogium,  which  they  will  delight 
to  echo  ten  ages  hence  when  we  are  dumb, 

5.  The  unambitious  life  of  Washington,  declining  fame,  yet 
courted  by  it,  seemed,  like  his  own  Potomack,  widening  an4 
deepening  his  channel,  as  he  approaches  the  sea,  and  displaying 
f»ost  the  usefulness  and  serenity  of  hJ3  greatness  toward  tha 


ISO  cobb's  sequel. 

end  of  his  course.     Such  a  citizen  would  do  honour  to  anf 
country. 

6.  The  constant  veneration  and  affection  of  his  country  will 
show  that  it  was  worthy  of  such  a  citizen.  However  his  mili- 
tary fame  may  excite  the  wonder  of  mankind,  it  is  chiefly  by  his 
civil  magistracy  that  his  example  will  instruct  them.  Great 
generals  have  arisen  in  all  ages  of  the  world,  and,  perhaps,  most 
in  those  of  despotism  and  darkness. 

7.  In  times  of  violence  and  convulsion,  they  rise,  by  the  force 
of  the  whirlwind,  high  enough  to  ride  in  it,  and  direct  the  storm. 
Like  meteors,  they  glare  on  the  black  clouds  with  a  splendour, 
that,  while  it  dazzles  and  terrifies,  makes  nothing  visible  but 
the  darkness.  The  fame  of  heroes  is,  indeed,  growing  vulgar ! 
They  multiply  in  every  long  war !  They  stand  in  history,  and 
thicken  in  their  ranks,  almost  as  undistinguished  as  their  own 
soldiers. 

8.  But  such  a  chief  magistrate  as  Washington,  appears  like 
the  polestar  in  a  clear  sky,  to  direct  the  skilful  statesman. 
His  presidency  will  form  an  epoch,  and  be  distinguished  as  the 
age  of  Washington.  Already  it  assumes  its  high  place  in  the 
political  region.  Like  the  milky  way,  it  whitens  along  its 
allotted  portion  of  the  hemisphere. 

9.  The  latest  generations  of  men  will  survey,  through  the 
telescope  of  history,  the  space  where  so  many  virtues  blend 
their  rays,  and  delight  to  separate  them  into  groups  and  distinct 
virtues.  As  the  best  illustration  of  them,  the  living  monument, 
to  which  the  first  of  patriots  would  have  chosen  to  consign  his 
fame,  it  is  my  earnest  prayer  to  heaven,  that  our  country  may 
subsist,  even  to  that  late  day,  in  the  plenitude  of  it3  liberty  and 
happiness,  and  mingle  its  mild  glory  with  Washington's.— Ames. 


LESSON  CXIX. 
On  Plants. 

1.  Plants  stand  next  to  animals  in  the  scale  of  existence : 
they  are,  like  them,  organized  bodies ;  like  them,  increase  by 
nutrition,  which  is  conveyed  through  a  system  of  tubes  and 
fine  vessels,  and  assimilated  to  their  substance ;  like  them,  they 
propagate  their  race  from  a  parent,  and  each  seed  produces  its 
own  plant ;  like  them,  they  grow  by  insensible  degrees  from  an 
infant  state  to  full  vigour,  and,  after  a  certain  term  of  maturity, 
decay  and  die.     In  short,  except  the  powers  of  speech  and 


cobb's  sequel,  18J 

locomotion,  they  seem  to  possess  every  characteristick  of  sen* 
dent  life. 

2.  A  plant  consists  of  a  root,  a  stem,  leaves,  and  a  flower  or 
blossom.  The  root  is  bulbous,  as  the  onion;  long,  like  the 
parsnip  or  carrot ;  or  branched  out  into  threads,  as  the  greater 
number  are,  and  particularly  all  the  large  ones ;  a  bulbous  root 
could  not  support  a  large  tree.  The  stem  is  single  or  branched, 
clinging  for  support,  or  upright,  clothed  with  a  skin  or  bark, 

3.  The  flower  contains  the  principle  of  reproduction,  as  the 
root  does  of  individuality.  This  is  the  most  precious  parfc  pf 
the  plant,  to  which  every  thing  contributes.  The  root  nourishes 
it,  the  stem  supports,  the  leaves  defend  and  shelter  it  i  it  comes 
forth  but  when  nature  has  prepared  for  it  by  showers,  and  sun, 
and  gentle,  soothing  warmth :  colour,  beauty,  scent,  adorn  it ; 
and  when  it  is  complete,  the  end  of  the  plant's  existence  is. 
answered.  It  fades  and  dies ;  or,  if  capable  by  its  perennial 
nature  of  repeating  the  process,  it  hides  in  its  inmost  folds  the 
precious  germe  of  new  being,  and  itself  almost  retire^  from, 
existence  till  a  new  year. 

4.  A  tree  is  one  of  the  most  stately  and  beautiful  objects  in 
God's  visible  creation.  It  does  not  admit  of  an  exact  flefinUjon, 
Jbut  is  distinguished  from  the  humbler  plant  by  its  pize,  the 
strength  of  its  stem,  which  becomes  a  trunk,  and  the  compara- 
tive smallness  of  the  blossom.  In  the  frujktrees,  indeed,  the 
number  of  blossoms  compensates  for  their  want  of  size ;  but 
in  the  forest-trees  the  flower  is  scarcely  visible.  Production 
seems  not  to  be  so  important  a  process  where  the  parent  tree 
Jives  for  centuries. 

5.  Every  part  of  vegetables  is  useful.  Of  many  the  roots 
are  edible,  and  the  seeds  are  generally  so ;  of  many  the  leaves, 
as  of  the  cabbage,  spinage ;  the  buds,  as  of  the  asparagus,  cauli- 
flower; the  bark  is  often  employed  medicinally,  as  £he  quinquina 
and  cinnamon. 

6.  The  trunk  of  a  tree  determines  the  manner  of  its  growth, 
and  gives  firmness ;  the  foliage  serves  to  form  one  mass  of  a 
number  of  trees ;  while  the  distinct  lines  are  partly  seen,  partly 
hidden.  The  leaves  throw  over  the  branches  a  rich  mantle, 
like  flowing  tresses ;  they  wave  in  the  wind  with  an  undulatory 
motion,  catch  the  glow  of  the  evening  sun,  or  glitter  with  the 
rain ;  they  shelter  innumerable  birds  and  animals,  and  afford 
variety  in  colours,  from  the  bright  green  of  spring  to  the  varied 
feints  of  autumn.  In  winter,  however,  the  form  of  each  tree  and 
its  elegant  ramifications  are  discerned,  which  were  lost  under. 
$he  flowing  robe  of  verdure. 

7.  Trees  are  beautiful  in  all  combinations  :  the  single  tree  jj 


182  cobb's  sequel. 

so ;  the  clump,  the  grove,  rising  like  an  amphitheatre ;  the 
flowing  line  that  marks  the  skirts  of  the  wood,  and  the  dark, 
deep,  boundless  shade  of  the  forest ;  the  green  line  of  the  hedge- 
row, the  more  artificial  avenue,  the  gothick  arch  of  verdure,  the 
tangled  thicket, 

8.  Young  trees  are  distinguished  by  beauty  ;  in  maturity  their 
characteristick  is  strength.  The  ruin  of  a  tree  is  venerable  even 
when  fallen  :  we  are  then  more  sensible  of  its  towering  height : 
we  also  observe  the  root,  the  deep  fangs  which  held  it  against 
so  many  storms,  and  the  firmness  of  the  wood  ;  a  sentiment  of 
pity  mixes,  too,  with  our  admiration. 

9.  The  trees  in  groves  and  woods  shed  a  brown,  religious 
horrour,  which  favoured  the  religion  of  the  ancient  world.  Trees 
shelter  from  cutting  winds  and  sea  air ;  they  preserve  moisture  ; 
but,  if  too  many,  in  their  thick  and  heavy  mass  lazy  vapours 
stagnate  ;  their  profuse  perspiration  is  unwholesome  ;  they  shut 
out  the  golden  sun  and  ventilating  breeze. 

.  10.  It  should  seem  as  if  the  number  of  trees  must  have  been 
diminished  for  ages,  for  in  no  cultivated  country  does  the  growth 
of  trees  equal  the  waste  of  them.  A  few  gentlemen  raise  plan- 
tations, but  many  more  cut  down  ;  and  the  farmer  thinks  not 
of  so  lofty  a  thing  as  the  growth  of  ages.  Trees  are  too  lofty 
to  want  the  hand  of  man. 

11.  The  florist  may  mingle  his  tulips,  and  spread  the  paper 
ruff  on  his  carnations  ;  he  may  trim  his  mount  of  roses  and  his 
laurel  hedge  ;  but  the  lofty  growth  of  trees  soars  far  above  him. 
If  he  presumes  to  fashion  them  with  his  shears,  and  trim  them 
into  fanciful  or  mathematical  shapes,  offended  taste  will  mock 
all  his  improvements.  Even  in  planting  he  can  do  little.  He 
may  succeed  in  fancying  a  clump,  or  laying  out  an  avenue,  and 
may,  perhaps,  gently  incline  the  boughs  to  form  the  arch ;  but 
a  forest  was  never  planted. — Mrs.  Barbauld. 


LESSON  CXX. 

Importance  of  Science  to  a  Practical  Mechanick. 

1.  Let  us  imagine,  for  a  moment,  the. condition  of  an  indi- 
vidual, who  has  not  advanced  beyond  the  merest  elements  of 
knowledge,  who  understands  nothing  of  the  principles  even  of 
his  own  art,  and  inquire  what  change  will  be  wrought  in  his 
feelings,  his  hopes,  and  happiness,  in  all  that  makes  up  the 
character,  by  the  gradual  inpouring  of  knowledge. 


cobb's  sequel.  183 ... 

2.  He  has  now  the  capacity  of  thought,  but  it  is  a  barren 
faculty,  never  nourished  by  the  food  of  the  mind,  and  never 
rising  above  the  poor  objects  of  sense.  Labour  and  rest,  the 
hope  of  mere  animal  enjoyment,  or  th§  fear  of  want,  the  care 
of  providing  covering  and  food,  make  up  the  whole  sum  of  his 
existence.  Such  a  man  may  be  industrious,  but  he  cannot  love 
labour,  for  it  is  not  relieved  by  the  excitement  of  improving 
or  changing  the  processes  of  his  art,  nor  cheered  by  the  hope 
of  a  better  condition. 

3.  When  released  from  labour  he  does  not  rejoice ;  for  mere 
idleness  is  not  enjoyment,  and  he  has  no  book,  no  lesson  of 
science,  no  play  of  the  mind,  no  interesting  pursuit,  to  give  a 
zest  to  the  hour  of  leisure.  Home  has  few  charms  for  him ;  he 
has  little  taste  for  the  quiet,  the  social  converse,  and  exchange 
of  feeling  and  thought,  the  innocent  enjoyments  that  ought  to 
dwell  there.  Society  has  little  to  interest  him;  for  he  has  no 
sympathy  for  the  pleasures  or  pursuits,  the  cares  or  troubles  of 
others,  to  whom  he  cannot  feel,  nor  perceive  his  bonds  of 
relationship. 

4.  All  of  life  is  but  a  poor  boon  for  such  a  man  ;  and  happy 
for  himself,  and  for  mankind,  if  the  few  ties  that  hold  him  to 
this  negative  existence  be  not  broken.  Happy  for  him  if  that 
best  and  surest  friend  of  man,  that  messenger  of  good  news 
from  heaven  to  the  poorest  wretch  on  earth,  Keligion,  bringing 
the  fear  of  God,  appear  to  save  him.  Without  her  to  support, 
should  temptation  assail  him,  what  an  easy  victim  would  he 
fall  to  vice  or  crime  !  How  little  would  be  necessary  to  over- 
turn his  ill-balanced  principles,  and  leave  him  grovelling  in 
intemperance,  or  send  him  abroad  on  the  ocean  or  the  high- 
way, an  enemy  to  himself  and  his  kind  ! 

5.  But,  let  the  light  of  science  fall  upon  that  man  ;  open  to 
him  the  fountain  of  knowledge.  A  few  principles  of  philoso- 
phy enter  his  mind,  and  awaken  the  dormant  power  of  thought. 
He  begins  to  look  upon  his  art  with  an  altered  eye.  It  ceases 
to  be  a  dark  mechanical  process,  which  he  cannot  understand ; 
he  regards  it  as  an  object  of  inquiry,  and  begins  to  penetrate 
the  reasons,  and  acquire  a  new  mastery  over  his  own  instru- 
ments. 

6.  He  finds  other  and  better  modes  of  doing  what  he  had 
done  before,  blindly  and  without  interest,  a  thousand  times. 
He  learns  to  profit  by  the  experience  of  others,  and  ventures 
upon  untried  paths.  Difficulties,  which  before  would  have  stop- 
ped him  at  the  outset,  receive  a  ready  solution  from  some 
luminous  principle  of  science. 

7.  He  gains  new  knowledge  and  new  skill,  and  can  improve 


184  COBB's    SEQUEL. 

the  quality  of  his  manufacture*  while  he  shortens  the  process 
and  diminishes  his  own  labour.  Then  labour  becomes  sweet  to 
him;  his  accompanied  by  the  consciousness  of  increasing  power? 
it  is  leading  him  forward  to  a  higher  place  among  his  fellow 
mem  Relaxation*  too,  is  sweet  to  him,  as  it  enables  him  to 
add  to  his  intellectual  stores,  and  to  mature,  by  undisturbed 
meditation,  the  plans  and  conceptions  of  the  hour  of  labour. 

8;  His  home  has  acquired  a  new  charm  ;  for  he  is  become  a 
man  of  thought,  &nd  feels  and  enjofs  the  peace  and  seclusion 
of  that  sacred  retreat ;  and  he  carries  thither  the  honest  compla- 
cency* which  is  the  companion  of  well-earned  success.  There, 
too*  bright  visions  of  the  future  sphere  open  upon  him,  and 
excite  ft  kindly  feeling  towards  those  who  are  to  share  in  his 
prosperity. 

9.  Thus  his  mind  and  heart  expand  together.  He  has  be- 
come an  intelligent  being,  and,  while  he  has  learned  to  esteem 
himself,  he  has  also  learned  to  live  no  longer  for  himself  alone. 
Society  opens  like  a  new  world  to  him ;  he  looks  upon  his  fel- 
low creatures  with  interest  dnd  sympathy,  and  feels  that  he  has 
a  place  in  their"  affections  and  respect. 

10.  Temptations  assail  him  in  Vaiii;  He  is  armed  by  high 
and  pure  thoughts.  He  takes  a  wide?  view  of  his  relations 
with  the  beings  about  and  above  him.  He  welcomes  every 
generous  virtue  that  adorns  and  dignifies  the  human  character* 
He  delights  in  the  exercise  of  reason.  He  glories  in  the  con* 
sciousness  and  the  hope  of  immortality  .-^G*  B.  Emerson* 


Lesson  cxxl 

On  Early  Rising* 

ftisE  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark  to  bed* 
The  breath  of  night  is  destructive  to  the  hue 
Of  every  flower  that  blows.     Go  to  the  field, 
And  ask  the  humble  daisy  why  it  sleeps, 
Soon  as  the  sun  departs :     Why  close  the  eyeg 
Of  blossoms  infinite,  ere  the  still  moon 
Her  oriental  veil  puts  off? 

Think  why, 
Nor  let  the  sweetest  blossom  be  exposed 
That  nature  boasts,  to  night's  unkindly  damp. 
\Vell  may  it  droop,  and  all  its  freshness  lose, 
Compelled  to  taste  the  rank  and  poisonous  steam 


conr/s  sequel.  185 

Of  midnight  theatre,  and  morning  ball. 
Give  to  repose  the  solemn  hour  she  claims; 
And,  from  the  forehead  of  the  morning,  steal 
The  sweet  occasion.     Oh  !  there  is  a  charm 
That  morning  has,  that  gives  the  brow  of  age 
A  smack  of  youth,  and  makes  the  lip  of  youth 
Breathe  perfumes  exquisite. 

3.  Expect  it  not, 

Ye  who,  till  noon,  upon  a  down-bed  lie, 
Indulging  feverish  sleep,  or,  wakeful,  dream 
Of  happiness  no  mortal  heart  has  felt, 
But  in  the  regions  of  romance.     Ye  fair, 
Like  you  it  must  be  wooed  or  never  won ; 
And,  being  lost,  it  is  in  vain  ye  ask 
For  milk  of  roses  and  Olympian  dew. 
Cosmetick  art  no  tincture  can  afford, 
The  faded  features  to  restore  :  no  chain, 
Be  it  of  gold,  and  strong  as  adamant, 
Can  fetter  beauty  to  the  fair  one's  will. — Hurdis. 


LESSON  CXXII. 

A  Went  Indian  Landscape, 

,  1.  In  order  to  make  our  readers  better  acquainted  with  this 
country,  we  shall  attempt  to  describe  a  morning  in  the  Antilles. 
For  this  purpose,  let  us  watch  the  moment  when  the  sun,  ap- 
pearing through  a  cloudless  and  serene  atmosphere,  illumines 
with  his  rays  the  summits  of  the  mountains,  and  gilds  the  leaves 
of  the  plantain  and  orange  trees.  The  plants  are  spread 
over  with  gossamer  of  tine  and  transparent  silk,  or  gemmed 
with  dew-drops  and  the  vivid  hues  of  industrious  insects  reflect- 
ing unnumbered  teints  from  the  rays  of  the  sun. 

2.  The  aspect  of  the  richly  cultivated  valleys  is  different, 
but  not  less  pleasing  ;  the  whole  of  nature  teems  with  the  most 
varied  productions.  It  often  happens,  after  the  sun  has  dissi- 
pated the  mist  above  the  crystal  expanse  of  the  ocean,  that  the 
scene  is  changed  by  an  optical  illusion.  The  spectator  observes 
sometimes  a  sand-bank  rising  out  of  the  deep,  or  distant  canoes 
in  the  red  clouds,  floating  in  an  aerial  sea,  while  their  shadows,  at 
the  same  time,  are  accurately  delineated  below  them.  This 
phenomenon,  to  which  the  French  have  given  the  name  of 
mirage,  is  not  uncommon  in  equatorial  climates. 

VI* 


186  cobb's  sequel. 

3;  Europeans  may  admire  the  views  in  this  Archipelago 
during  the  cool  temperature  of  the  morning :  the  lofty  mount- 
ains are  adorned  with  thick  foliage ;  the  hills*  from  their  summits 
to  the  very  borders  of  the  sea*  are  fringed  with  plants  of  never- 
fading  verdure ;  the  mills*  and  sugar-works  hear  them,  are 
obscured  by  their  branches,  or  buried  in  their  shade; 

4i  The  appearance  of  the  Valleys  is  remarkable.  To  form 
eveti  an  imperfect  idea  of  it,  we  must  group  together  the  palm 
tree'*  the  cocoa-nut*  and  moUntairi  cabbage,  with  the  tamarind* 
the  orange,  and  the  Waving  plumes  of  the  bamboo-cane.  Fields 
of  sugar-cane*  the  houses  of  the  planters,  the  huts  of  the  negroes* 
and  the  distant  coast  lined  with  ships*  add  to  the  beauty  of  a 
West  Indian  landscape.  At  sunrise,  When  no  breeze  ripples 
the  surface  of  th£  ocean,  it  is  frequently  so  transparent,  that 
brie1  e&tt  perceive,  as  if  there  were  no  intervening  medium,  the 
channel  of  the  water*  and  observe  the  shellfish  scattered  on 
the  rocks,  or  reposing  on  the  sand. 

5.  A  hurricane  is  generally  preceded  by  an  awful  stillness 
Of  the  elements  ;  the  air  becomes  close  and  heavy  ;  the  sun  is 
red  \  and  the  stars  at  night  seem  unusually  large.  Frequent 
changes  take  place  in  the  thermometer*  which  rises  sometimes 
from  eighty  to  ninety  degrees.  Darkness  eitends  over  the 
earth;  the  higher  regions  gleam  with  lightning; 

6;  The  impending  storm  is  first  observed  on  the  sea :  foam- 
ing mountains  rise  suddenly  from  its  clear  and  motionless  sur* 
face;  The  wind  rages  with  unrestrained  fury  i  its  noise  may 
be  compared  to  distant  thunder.  The  rain  descends  in  torrents } 
Shrtibs  and  lofty  trees  are  borne  down  by  the  mountain  stream  j 
the  rivers  overflow  their  banks,  and  submerge  the  plains. 

f ;  Tefrour  and  consternation  seem  to  pervade  the  whole  of 
animated  nature ;  land  birds  are  driven  into  the  ocean,  and  those 
whose  element  is  the  sea,  seek  for  refuge  in  the  woods.  The 
frighted  beasts  of  the  field  herd  together*  of  roam  in  vain  for  a 
place  o(  shelter.  It  is  not  a  contest  of  two  opposite  winds,  or 
a  roaring  ocean  that  shakes  the  earth :  all  the  elements  are 
thrown  into  confusion ;  the  equilibrium  of  the  atmosphere 
See^ms  as  if  it  were  destroyed ;  and  nature  appears  to  hasten  to 
hei4  ancient  chaos. 

8.  Scenes  of  sudden  desolation  have  often  been  disclosed  in 
these  islands  to  the  morning's  sun :  uprooted  trees,  branches 
shivered  from  their  trunks,  arid  the  ruins  of  houses,  have  been 
strewed  over  thte  land.  The  planter  is  sometimes  unable  to 
distinguish  the  place  of  his  former  possessions.  Fertile  valleys 
fere  changed  in  a  few  hours  into  dreary  wastes,  covered  with 
the  carcasses  of  domestkk  animals,  and  the  fowls  of  heatfen. 

Malte-Bh*jnw 


cobb's  sequel.  18t 


LESSON  CXXIII. 

Supposed  Speech  of  John  Adaifis  in  favour  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence. 

1.  Sink  or  switn,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  mf 
hand,  and  my  heart,  to  this  vote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in  the! 
beginning,  we  aimed  not  at  independence.  But  there  is  a 
Divinity  which  shapes  our  ends.  The  injustice  of  England  has 
driven  us  to  arms  ;  and,  blinded  to  her  own  interest,  for  our 
good  she  has  obstinately  persisted,  till  independence  is  now 
within  our  grasp.  We  have  but  to  reach  forth  to  it,  and  it  is" 
ours. 

2.  Why  then  should  we  defer  the  declaration  1  Is  any  man 
so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a  reconciliation  with  England* 
which  shall  leave  either  safety  to  the  country  and  its  liberties, 
or  safety  to  his  own  life,  and  his  own  honour  ?  Are  not  you, 
sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair ;  is  not  he,  our  venerable  colleague* 
near  you  ;  are  you  not  both  already  the  proscribed  and  predes- 
tined objects  of  punishment  and  vengeance  ?  Cut  off  from  all 
hope  of  royal  clemency,  what  are  you,  what  can  you  be,  while 
the  power  of  England  remains,  but  outlaws  1 

3.  If  we  postpone  independence,  do  we  mean  to  carry  on, 
or  to  give  up,  the  war  ?  Do  we  mean  to  submit  to  the  measnres 
of  parliament,  Boston  port-bill  and  all  ?  Do  we  mean  to  sub- 
mit, and  consent  that  we  ourselves  shall  be  ground  to  powder* 
and  our  country  and  its  rights  trodden  down  in  the  dust  ?  I 
know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit     We  never  shall  submit. 

4.  Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obligation  ever 
entered  into  by  mett,  that  plighting,  before  God,  of  our  sacred 
honour  to  Washington,  when  putting  him  forth  to  incur  the 
dangers  of  Avar,  as  well  as  the  political  hazards  of  the  times* 
we  promised  to  adhere  to  him,  in  every  extremity,  with  our 
fortunes  and  our  lives  ?  I  know  there  is  not  a  man  here,  who 
would  not  rather  see  a  general  conflagration  sweep  over  the 
land,  or  an  earthquake  sink  it,  than  one  jot  or  tittle  of  thai 
plighted  faith  fall  to  the  ground. 

5.  For  myself,  having,  twelve  months  ago,  in  this  place* 
moved  you,  that  George  Washington  be  appointed  commandeJ 
of  the  forces,  raised,  or  to  be  raised,  for  the  defence  of  American 
liberty,  may  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning,  and  my  tongue 
cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  hesitate  or  waver,  in  the 
support  I  give  him.  Tile  war,  then,  must  go  on.  We  must 
fight  it  through*     And,  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put  off 


188  cobb's  sequel. 

longer  the  declaration  of  independence  ?     That  measure  will 
strengthen  us :  it  will  give  us  character  abroad. 

6.  The  nations  will  Ihen  treat  with  us,  which  they  never  can 
do  while  we  acknowledge  ourselves  subjects,  in  arms  against 
our  sovereign.  Nay,  I  maintain  that  England,  herself,  will 
sooner  treat  for  peace  with  us  on  the  footing  of  independence, 
than  consent,  by  repealing  her  acts,  to  acknowledge,  that  her 
whole  conduct  towards  us  has  been  a  course  of  injustice  and 
oppression. 

7.  Her  pride  will  be  less  wounded,  by  submitting  to  that 
course  of  things  which  now  predestinates  our  independence, 
than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to  her  rebellious 
subjects.  The  former  she  would  regard  as  the  result  of  for- 
tune ;  the  latter  she  would  feel  as  her  own  deep  disgrace. 
Why  then,  why  then,  sir,  do  we  not,  as  soon  as  possible,  change 
this  from  a  civil  to  a  national  war  ?  And  since  we  must  light 
it  through,  why  not  put  ourselves  in  a  state  to  enjoy  all  the 
benefits  of  victory,  if  we  gain  the  victory  ? 

8.  If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us.  But  we  shall  not  fail. 
The  cause  will  raise  up  armies ;  the  cause  will  create  navies. 
The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them,  will  carry  us, 
and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously  through  this  struggle. 
I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people  have  been  found. 

9.  I  know  the  people  of  these  colonies,  and  I  know,  (hat 
resistance  to  British  aggression  is  deep  and  settled  in  their 
hearts,  and  cannot  be  eradicated.  Every  colony,  indeed,  has 
expressed  its  willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but  take  the  lead. 
Sir,  the  declaration  will  inspire  the  people  with  increased  cour- 
age. Instead  of  a  long  and  bloody  war  for  restoration  of 
privileges,  for  redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered  immunities, 
held  under  a  British  king,  set  before  them  the  glorious  object 
of  entire  independence,  and  it  will  breathe  into  them  anew  the 
breath  of  life. 

10.  Read  this  declaration  at  the  head  of  the  army ;  every 
sword  will  be  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow 
uttered,  to  maintain  it,  x>r  to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honour.  Pub- 
lish it  from  the  pulpit;  religion  will  approve  it,  and  the  love 
of  religious  liberty  will  cling  round  it,  resolved  to  stand  with 
it,  or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  publick  halls  ;  proclaim  it 
there ;  let  them  hear  it,  who  heard  the  first  roar  of  the  enemy's 
cannon  ;  let  them  see  it,  who  saw  their  brothers  and  their  sons 
fall  on  the  field  of  Bunkerhill,  and  in  the  streets  of  Lexington 
and  Concord,  and  the  very  walls  will  cry  out  in  its  support. 

11.  Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs  ;  but  I  see, 
I  see  clearlv  through  this  dav's  husiness.     You  and  I,  indeed, 


COBB'S    SEQUEt.  180 

tliay  rues  it.  We  riiay  not  live  to  the  time  when  this  declara- 
tion shall  be  made  good.  We  may  die ;  die  colonists ;  die, 
slaves  ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously,  and  on  the  scaffold.  Be 
it  so.  Be  it  so.  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  Heaven,  that  my  coun- 
try shall  require  the  poor  offering  of  my  life,  the  victim  shall 
be  ready,  at  the  appointed  hour  of  sacrifice,  come  when  that 
hour  may.  But,  while  I  do  live,  let  me  have  a  country,  or  at 
least  the  hope  of  a  country,  and  that  a  free  country. 

12.  But,  whatever*  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  assured, 
that  this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and  it 
may  cost  blood ;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly  compen- 
sate for  both.  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present,  I  see 
the  brightness  of  the  future,  as  the  sim  in  heaven.  We  shall 
make  this  a  glorious,  an  immortal  day.  When  we  are  in  our 
graves*  our  children  will  honour  it.  They  will  celebrate  it 
with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity,  with  bonfires,  and  illumina- 
tions. On  its  annual  return,  they  will  shed  tears,  copious* 
gushing  tears,  not  of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony  and 
distress,  but  of  exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy. 

13.  Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  that  the  hour  is  come.  My 
judgement  approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it* 
All  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope,  in  this  life* 
I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I  leave  off,  as  I 
begun,  that,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the  decla- 
ration. It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God, 
it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment,  independence  now,  and  inde- 
pendence for  ever. — Webster. 


LESSON  CXXIV. 

The  Western  Emigrant. 

1.  Amid  these  forest  shades  that  proudly  reared 
Their  unshorn  beauty  towards  the  favouring  skies, 
An  axe  rang  sharply.     There,  with  vigorous  arm, 
Wrought  a  bold  emigrant,  while  by  his  side 

His  little  son  with  question  and  response 
Beguiled  the  toil. 

2.  "  Boy,  thou  hast  never  seen 
Stitch  glorious  trees,  and  when  the  giant  trunks 
Fall,  now  the  firm  earth  groans.     Rememberest  thoil 
The  mighty  river  on  whose  breast  we  sailed 

So  many  days  on  toward  the  setting  sun  ? 


190  coeb's  sequel. 

Compared  to  that,  our  own  Connecticut 
Is  but  a  creeping  stream." 

3.  "  Father,  the  brook, 
That  by  our  door  went  singing,  when  I  launched 
My  tiny  boat  with  all  the  sportive  boys, 

When  school  was  o'er,  is  dearer  far  to  me 
Than  all  these  deep  broad  waters.     To  my  eye 
They  are  as  strangers.     And  those  little  trees 
My  mother  planted  in  the  garden,  bound, 
Of  our  first  home,  from  whence  the  fragrant  peach 
Fell  in  its  ripening  gold,  were  fairer  sure 
Than  this  dark  forest  shutting  out  the  day." 

4.  "  What,  ho  !  my  little  girl,"  and  with  light  step 
A  fairy  creature  hasted  toward  her  sire, 

And  setting  down  the  basket  that  contained 
The  noon's  repast,  looked  upward  to  his  face 
With  sweet,  confiding  smile. 

5.  "  See,  dearest,  see 
Yon  bright  winged  paroquet,  and  hear  the  song 
Of  the  gay  red-bird  echoing  through  the  trees, 
Making  rich  musick.     Did'st  thou  ever  hear 

In  far  New  England  such  a  mellow  tone?" 

6.  "  I  had  a  robin  that  did  take  the  crumbs 
Each  night  and  morning,  and  his  chirping  voice 
Did  make  me  joyful,  as  I  went  to  tend 

My  snow-drops.     I  was  always  laughing  there, 
In  that  first  home.     I  should  be  happier  now, 
Methinks,  if  I  could  find  among  these  dells 
The  same  fresh  violets." 

7.  Slow  night  drew  on, 
And  round  the  rude  hut  of  the  emigrant, 

The  wrathful  spirit  of  the  autumn  storm 

Spake  bitter  things.     His  wearied  children  slept, 

And  he,  with  head  declined,  sat  listening  long 

To  the  swollen  waters  of  the  Illinois, 

Dashing  against  their  shores.     Starting,  he  spake : 

8.  "  Wife !  did  I  see  thee  brush  away  a  tear  ? 
Say,  was  it  so  ?     Thy  heart  was  with  the  halls 
Of  thy  nativity.     Their  sparkling  lights, 


COEIVS    SEQIEL.  191 

Carpets  and  sofas,  and  admiring  guests, 

Befit  thee  better  than  these  rugged  walls 

Of  shapeless  logs,  and  this  lone  hermit-home." 

9.       "  No,  No  !     All  was  so  still  around,  methought, 
Upon  my  ear  that  echoed  hymn  did  steal 
Which  'mid  the  church,  where  erst  we  paid  our  vows, 
So  tuneful  pealed.     But  tenderly  thy  voice 
Dissolved  the  illusion ;"  and  the  gentle  smile 
Lighting  her  brow,  the  fond  caress  that  soothed 
Her  waking  infant,  re-assured  his  soul 
That  wkereso'er  the  pure  affections  dwell 
And  strike  a  healthful  root,  is  happiness. 

10.-      Placid  and  grateful  to  his  rest  he  sank  ; 

But  dreams,  those  wild  magicians,  which  do  play 

Such  pranks  when  reason  slumbers,  tireless  wrought 

Their  will  with  him.     Up  rose  the  busy  mart 

Of  his  own  native  city :  roof  and  spire 

All  glittering  bright,  in  fancy's  frost-work  ray. 

11.  Forth  came  remembered  forms;  with  curving  neck 
The  steed  his  boyhood  nurtured,  proudly  neighed ; 
The  favourite  dog,  exulting  round  his  feet, 
Frisked,  with  shrill,  joyous  bark  ;  familiar  doors 
Flew  open  ;  greeting  hands  with  his  were  linked 
In  friendship's  grasp ;  he  heard  the  keen  debate 
From  congregated  haunts,  where  mind  with  mind 
Doth  blend  and  brighten  ;  and  till  morning  roved 
'Mid  the  loved  scenery  of  his  father-land. 

Mrs.  Sigourney. 


LESSON  CXXV. 

Notch  in  the  White  Mountains. 

1.  The  sublime  and  awful  grandeur  of  this  passage  baffles 
all  description.  Geometry  may  settle  the  heights  of  the  mount- 
ains ;  and  numerical  figures  may  record  the  measure  ;  but  no 
words  can  tell  the  emotions  of  the  soul,  as  it  looks  upward, 
and  views  the  almost  perpendicular  precipices  which  line  the 
narrow  space  between  them  ;  while  the  senses  ache  with  terrour 
and  astonishment,  as  one  sees  himself  hedged  in  from  all  the 
world  besides. 


192  COBB*S    SEdUEL. 

2.  He  may  cast  his  eye  forward,  or  backward,  or  to  either  side; 
he  can  see  only  upward,  and  there  the  diminutive  circle  of  his 
vision  is  cribbed  and  confined  by  the  battlements  of  nature's 
"  cloud-capped  towers,"  which  seem  as  if  they  wanted  only 
the  breathing  of  a  zephyr,  or  the  wafting  of  a  straw  against 
them,  to  displace  them,  and  crush  the  prisoner  in  their  fall. 

3.  Just  before  our  visit  to  this  place,  on  the  twenty-sixth  of 
June,  1826,  there  was  a  tremendous  avalanche,  or  slide,  as  it 
is  there  called,  from  the  mountain  which  makes  the  southern 
wall  of  the  passage.  An  immense  mass  of  earth  and  rock,  on 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  was  loosened  from  its  resting  place, 
and  began  to  slide  toward  the  bottom. 

4.  In  its  course,  it  divided  into  three  portions,  each  coming 
down,  with  amazing  velocity,  into  the  road,  and  sweeping 
before  it,  shrubs,  trees,  and  rocks,  and  filling  up  the  road,  be^. 
youd  all  possibility  of  its  being  removed.  With  great  labour, 
a  pathway  has  been  made  over  these  fallen  masses,  which 
admits  the  passage  of  a  carriage. 

5.  The  place  from  which  the  slide,  or  slip,  was  loosened,  is 
directly  in  the  rear  of  a  small,  but  comfortable  dwelling-house, 
owned  and  occupied  by  a  Mr.  Willey,  who  has  taken  advantage 
of  a  narrow,  a  very  narrow  interval,  where  the  bases  of  the 
two  mountains  seem  to  have  parted  and  receded,  as  if  afraid  of 
coming  into  contact,  to  erect  his  lone  habitation :  and,  were 
there  not  a  special  Providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow,  and 
had  not  the  finger  of  that  Providence  traced  the  direction  of 
the  sliding  mass,  neither  he,  nor  any  soul  of  his  family,  would 
ever  have  told  the  tale. 

6.  They  heard  the  noise,  when  it  first  began  to  move,  and 
ran  to  the  door.  In  terrour  and  amazement,  they  beheld  the 
mountain  in  motion.  But  what  can  human  power  effect  in 
such  an  emergency  ?  Before  they  could  think  of  retreating, 
pr  ascertain  which  way  to  escape,  the  danger  was  passed. 

7.  One  portion  of  the  avalanche  crossed  the  road  aboul  ten 
rods  only  from  their  habitation ;  the  second,  a  few  rods  be* 
yond  that ;  and  the  third,  and  much  the  largest  portion,  took 
a  much  more  oblique  direction,  The  whole  area,  now  covered 
by  the  slide,  is  nearly  an  acre;  and  the  distance  of  its  present 
bed  from  its  former  place  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and 
which  it  moved  over  in  a  few  minutes,  is  from  three  quarters 
of  a  mile  to  a  mile. 

8.  There  are  many  trees  of  large  size,  that  came  down  with 
such  force  as  to  shiver  them  in  pieces ;  and  innumerable  rocks, 
of  many  tuns  weight,  any  one  of  which  was  sufficient  to  carry 
>yith  it  destruction  to  any  of  the  labours  of  man,     The  spot  09 


cobb's  sequel.  193 

the  mountain,  from  which  the  slip  was  loosened,  is  now  a  naked, 
white  rock ;  and  its  pathway  downward  is  indicated  by  deep 
channels,  or  furrows,  grooved  in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and 
down  one  of  which  pours  a  stream  of  water,  sufficient  to  carry 
a  common  saw-mill. 

9.  From  this  place  to  the  Notch,  there  is  almost  a  continual 
ascent,  generally  gradual,  but  sometimes  steep  and  sudden. 
The  narrow  pathway  proceeds  along  the  stream,  sometimes 
crossing  it,  and  shifting  from  the  side  of  one  mountain  to  the 
other,  as  either  furnishes  a  less  precarious  foothold  for  the 
traveller  than  its  fellow. 

10.  Occasionally  it  winds  up  the  side  of  the  steep  to  such  a 
height,  as  to  leave,  on  one  hand  or  the  other,  a  gulf  of  unseen 
depth ;  for  the  foliage  of  the  trees  and  shrubs  is  impervious  to 
the  sight. 

11.  The  Notch  itself  is  formed  by  a  sudden  projection  of 
rock  from  the  mountain  on  the  right  or  northerly  side,  rising 
perpendicularly  to  a  great  height,  probably  seventy  or  eighty 
feet,  and  by  a  large  mass  of  rock  on  the  left  side,  which  has 
tumbled  from  its  ancient  location,  and  taken  a  position  within 
twenty  feet  of  its  opposite  neighbour. 

12.  The  length  of  the  Notch  is  not  more  than  three  or  four 
rods.  The  moment  it  is  passed,  the  mountains  seem  to  have 
vanished.  A  level  meadow,  overgrown  with  long  grass  and 
wild  flowers,  and  spotted  with  tufts  of  shrubbery,  spreads  itself 
before  the  astonished  eye,  on  the  left,  and  a  swamp,  or  thicket, 
on  the  right,  conceals  the  ridge  of  mountains  which  extend 
to  the  north :  the  road  separates  this  thicket  from  the  meadow. 

13.  Not  far  from  the  Notch,  on  the  right  hand  side  of  the 
road,  several  springs  issue  from  the  rocks  that  compose  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  unite  in  the  thicket,  and  form  the  Saco 
river.  This  little  stream  runs  across  the  road  into  the  meadow, 
where  it  almost  loses  itself  in  its  meandering  among  the  bogs, 
but  again  collects  its  waters,  and  passes  under  the  rock  that 
makes  the  southerly  wall  of  the  Notch. 

14.  It  is  here  invisible  for  several  rods,  and  its  presence  is 
indicated  only  by  its  noise,  as  it  rolls  through  its  rugged  tunnel. 
In  wet  seasons  and  freshets,  probably  a  portion  of  the  water 
passes  over  the  fragments  of  rock,  which  are  here  wedged 
together,  and  form  an  arch,  or  covering,  for  the  natural  bed 
of  the  stream. 

15.  The  sensations  which  affect  the  corporeal  faculties  as  one 
views  these  stupendous  creations  of  Omnipotence,  are  abso- 
lutely afflicting  and  painful.  If  you  look  at  the  summits  of 
the  mountains,  when  a  cloud  passes  towards  them,  it  is  hnpos* 

17 


194  cobb's  sequel. 

sible  for  the  eye  to  distinguish,  at  such  a  height,  which  is  in 
motion,  the  mountain,  or  the  cloud ;  and  this  deception  of 
vision  produces  a  dizziness,  which  few  spectators  have  nerve 
enough  to  endure  for  many  minutes. 

16.  If  the  eye  be  fixed  on  the  crags  and  masses  of  rock, 
that  project  from  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  the  flesh  involun- 
tarily quivers,  and  the  limbs  seem  to  be  impelled  to  retreat 
from  a  scene  that  threatens  impendent  destruction.  If  the 
thoughts  which  crowd  upon  the  intellectual  faculties  are  less 
painful  than  these  sensations  of  flesh  and  blood,  they  are  too 
sublime  and  overwhelming  to  be  described. 

17.  The  frequent  alterations  and  great  changes  that  have 
manifestly  taken  place  in  these  majestick  masses,  since  they 
were  first  piled  together  by  the  hand  of  the  Creator,  are  calcu- 
lated to  awaken  "  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  the  soul." 

18.  If  the  "  everlasting  hills"  thus  break  in  pieces,  and  shake 
the  shaggy  covering  from  their  sides,  who  will  deny  that 

This  earthly  globe,  the  creature  of  a  day, 

Though  built  by  God's  right  hand,  shall  pass  away  1 

The  sun  himself,  by  gathering  clouds  oppressed, 

Shall,  in  his  silent,  dark  pavilion  rest ; 

His  golden  urn  shall  break,  and,  useless,  lie 

Among  the  common  ruins  of  the  sky ; 

The  stars  rush  headlong,  in  the  wild  commotion, 

And  bathe  their  glittering  foreheads  in  the  ocean  1 

19.  Reflection  needs  not  the  authority  of  inspiration  to 
warrant  a  belief,  that  this  anticipation  is  something  more  than 
poetical.  History  and  philosophy  teach  its  truth,  or,  at  least, 
its  probability.  The  melancholy  imaginings  which  it  excites, 
are  relieved  by  the  conviction  that  the  whole  of  God's  crea*- 
tion  is  nothing  less 

Than  a  capacious  reservoir  of  means, 
Formed  for  his  use,  and  ready  at  his  will; 

and  that,  if  this  globe  should  be  resolved  into  chaos,  it  will 
undergo  a  new  organization,  and  be  re-moulded  into  scenes  of 
beauty,  and  abodes  of  happiness. 

20.  Such  may  be  the  order  of  nature,  to  be  unfolded  in  a 
perpetual  series  of  material  production  and  decay,  of  creation 
and  dissolution,  a  magnificent  procession  of  worlds  and  sys* 
terns,  in  the  march  of  eternity.— J,  T.  Buckingham. 


C0BB?S    SEQUEL.  196 

LESSON  CXXVI. 
Government  of  the  People. 

e.     1.  The  sovereignty  of  the  people  is  the  basis  of  our  system. 

"  With  the  people  the  power  resides,  both  theoretically  and 
practically.  The  government  is  a  democracy,  a  determined, 
uncompromising  democracy ;  administered  immediately  by 
the  people,  or  by  the  people's  responsible  agents.  In  all  the 
European  treatises  on  political  economy,  and  even  in  the  state- 
papers  of  the  holy  alliance,  the  welfare  of  the  people  is 
acknowledged  to  be  the  object  of  government. 

2.  We  believe  so  too  ;  but,  as  each  man's  interests  are  safest 
in  his  own  keeping,  so,  in  like  manner,  the  interests  of  the 
people  can  best  be  guarded  by  themselves.  If  the  institution  of 
monarchy  were  neither  tyrannical  nor  oppressive,  it  should  at 
least  be  dispensed  with  as  a  costly  superfluity. 

3.  We  believe  the  sovereign  power  should  reside  equally 
among  the  people.  We  acknowledge  no  hereditary  distinc- 
tions, and  we  confer  on  no  man  prerogatives,  or  peculiar  privi- 
leges. Even  the  best  services  rendered  the  state  can  not 
destroy  this  original  and  essential  equality. 

4.  Legislation  and  justice  are  not  hereditary  offices ;  no  one 
is  born  to  power,  no  one  dandled  into  political  greatness. 
Our  government,  as  it  rests  for  support  on  reason  and  our 
interests,  needs  no  protection  from  a  nobility  ;  and  the  strength 
and  ornament  of  the  land,  consist  in  its  industry  and  morality, 
its  justice  and  intelligence. 

5.  The  states  of  Europe  are  all  intimately  allied  with  the 
church,  and  fortified  by  religious  sanctions.  We  approve  of 
the  influence  of  the  religious  principle  on  publick,  not  less 
than  on  private  life ;  but  we  hold  religion  to  be  an  affair  be- 
tween each  individual  conscience  and  God,  superiour  to  all 
political  institutions,  and  independent  of  them.  Christianity 
was  neither  introduced  nor  reformed  by  the  civil  power ;  and 
with  us  the  modes  of  worship  are  in  no  wise  prescribed  by 
the  state. 

6.  Thus,  then,  the  people  governs,  and  solely ;  it  does  not 
divide  its  powers  with  a  hierarchy,  a  nobility,  or  a  king.  The 
popular  voice  is  all  powerful  with  us ;  this  is  our  oracle ;  this, 
we  acknowledge,  is  the  voice  of  God.  Invention  is  solitary; 
but  who  shall  judge  of  its  results  ?  Inquiry  may  pursue  truth 
apart ;  but  who  shall  decide  if  truth  is  overtaken  ?     There  is 


19C  Bb's  sequel. 

no  safe  criterion  of  opinion  out  the  careful  exercise  of  the 
publick  judgement ;  and  in  the  science  of  government,  as 
elsewhere,  the  deliberate  convictions  of  mankind,  reasoning 
on  the  cause  of  their  own  happiness,  their  own  wants  and 
interests,  are  the  surest  revelations  of  political  truth. 

G.  Bancroft. 


i 
LESSON  CXXVII. 

Political  Economy. 

1.  The  language  of  science  is  frequently  its  most  difficult 
part,  but  in  political  economy  there  are  few  technical  terms, 
and  those  easily  comprehended.  It  may  be  defined  as  the  sci- 
ence which  teaches  us  to  investigate  the  causes  of  the  wealth 
and  prosperity  of  nations. 

2.  In  a  country  of  savages,  you  find  a  small  number  of  in- 
habitants spread  over  a  vast  tract  of  land.  Depending  on  the 
precarious  subsistence  afforded  by  fishing  and  hunting,  they 
are  frequently  subject  to  dearths  and  famines,  which  cut  them 
off  in  great  numbers.  As  soon  as  they  begin  to  apply  them- 
selves to  pasturage,  their  means  of  subsistence  are  brought 
within  narrower  limits,  requiring  only  that  degree  of  wander- 
ing necessary  to  provide  fresh  pasturage  for  their  cattle. 
Their  flocks  ensuring  them  a  more  easy  subsistence,  their 
families  begin  to  increase ;  they  lose,  in  a  great  measure,  their 
ferocity,  and  a  considerable  improvement  takes  place  in  their 
character. 

3.  By  degrees  the  art  of  tillage  is  discovered,  a  small  tract 
of  ground  becomes  capable  of  feeding  a  greater  relative  number 
of  people ;  the  necessity  of  wandering  in  search  of  food  is 
superseded ;  families  begin  to  settle  in  fixed  habitations,  and 
the  arts  of  social  life  are  introduced  and  cultivated. 

4.  In  the  savage  state  scarcely  any  form  of  government  is 
established ;  the  people  seem  to  be  under  no  control  but  that 
of  their  military  chiefs  in  time  of  warfare.  The  possession  of 
flocks  and  herds  in  the  pastoral  state  introduces  property,  and 
laws  are  necessary  for  its  security ;  the  elders  and  leaders, 
therefore,  of  these  wandering  tribes  begin  to  establish  laws  to 
violate  which  is  to  commit  a  crime  and  to  incur  a  punishment. 

5.  This  is  the  origin  of  social  order ;  and  when  in  the  third 
state,  the  people  settle  in  fixed  habitations,  the  laws  gradually 
assume  the  more  regular  form  of  monarchical  or  republican 


cobb's  sequel.  197 

government.  Every  thing  now  wears  a  new  aspect ;  industry" 
ourishes,  the  arts  are  invented,  the  use  of  metals  is  discovered ; 
labour  is  subdivided  ;  every  one  applies  himself  more  particu- 
larly to  a  distinct  employment,  in  which  he  becomes  skilful. 

6.  Thus,  by  slow  degrees,  this  people  of  savages,  whose 
origin  was  so  rude  and  miserable,  become  a  civilized  people, 
who  occupy  a  highly  cultivated  country,  crossed  by  fine  roads, 
leading  to  wealthy  and  populous  cities,  and  carrying  on  an 
extensive  trade  with  other  countries. 

7.  The  whole  business  of  political  economy  is  to  study  the 
causes  whu%  have  thus  co-operated  to  enrich  and  civilize  a 
nation*  This  science,  therefore,  is  essentially  founded  upon 
history,  not  the  history  of  sovereigns,  of  wars,  and  of  intrigues, 
but  the  history  of  the  arts,  and  of  trade,  of  discoveries,  and  of 
civilization. 

8.  We  see  some  countries,  like  America,  increase  rapidly  in 
wealth  and  prosperity)  while  others,  like  Egypt  and  Syria, 
are  empoverished,  depopulated,  and  falling  to  decay ;  when  the 
causes  which  produce  these  various  effects  are  well  understood, 
some  judgement  may  be  formed  of  the  measures  which  gov- 
ernments have  adopted  to  contribute  to  the  welfare  of  their 
people  ;  whether  certain  branches  of  commerce  should  be 
encouraged  in  preference  to  others ;  whether  it  be  proper  to 
prohibit  this  or  that  kind  of  merchandise  ;  whether  any  pecu- 
liar encouragements  should  be  given  to  agriculture ;  whether 
it  be  right  to  establish  by  law  the  price  of  provisions  or  the 
price  of  labour,  or  whether  they  should  be  left  without  con- 
trol ;  and  whether  many  other  measures,  which  influence  the 
welfare  of  nations,  should  be  adopted  or  rejected. 

9.  It  is  manifest,  therefore,  that  political  economy  consists 
of  two  parts,  theory  and  practice ;  the  science  and  the  art. 
The  science  comprehends  a  knowledge  of  the  facts  which  have 
been  enumerated  ;  the  art  relates  more  particularly  to  legisla- 
tion, and  consists  in  doing  whatever  is  requisite  to  contribute 
to  the  increase  of  national  wealth,  and  avoiding  whatever  would 
be  prejudicial  to  it. — Mrs.  Bryan. 


LESSON  CXXVIII. 

Friendship. 

1.       Friendship  !  mysterious  cement  of  the  soul, 
Sweet'ner  of  life,  and  solder  of  society, 
I  owe  thee  much.     Thou  hast  deserved  from  me 


196 


COBB  S    SEQUEL* 


Far,  far  beyond  what  1  can  ever  pay. 
Oft  have  I  proved  the  labours  of  thy  love, 
And  the  warm  efforts  of  the  gentle  heart, 
Anxious  to  please. 

2.  Oh  !  when  my  friend  and  I 
In  some  thick  wood  have  wandered  heedless  on* 
Hid  from  the  vulgar  eye,  and  sat  us  down 
Upon  the  sloping  cowslip-covered  bank, 
Where  the  pure,  limpid  stream  hasvslid  along 
In  grateful  errours  through  the  underwoo^, 

Sweet  murmuring,  methought  the  shrill-tongued  thrush 
Mended  his  song  of  love ;  the  sooty  blackbird 
Mellowed  his  pipe,  and  softened  every  note : 

3.  The  eglantine  smelled  sweeter,  and  the  rose 
Assumed  a  die  more  deep ;  while  every  flower 
Vied  with  its  fellow  plant  in  luxury 

Of  dress.     Oh  !  then,  the  longest  summer's  day 
Seemed  too,  too  much  in  haste :  still  the  full  heart 
Had  not  imparted  half:  'twas  happiness 
Too  exquisite  to  last.     Of  joys  departed, 
Not  to  return,  how  painful  the  remembrance ! 

Robert  Blair. 


LESSON  CXX1X. 

The  Influence  of  an  Early  Taste  for  Reading. 

1.  There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  that  has  a  greater  tendency 
to  decide  favourably  or  unfavourably  respecting  a  man's  future 
intellect,  than  the  question,  whether  or  not  he  be  impressed 
with  an  early  taste  for  reading. 

2.  Books  are  the  depository  of  every  thing  that  is  most 
honourable  to  man.  He  that  loves  reading  has  every  thing 
within  his  reach.  He  has  but  to  desire,  and  he  may  possess 
himself  of  every  species  of  wisdom  to  judge,  and  power  to 
reform. 

3.  The  chief  point  of  difference  between  the  man  of  talent 
and  the  man  without,  consists  in  the  different  ways  in  which 
their  minds  are  employed  during  the  same  interval ;  they  are 
obliged,  we  will  suppose,  to  walk  from  Templebar  to  Hyde- 
park  corner;  the  dull  man  goes  straight  forwaid,  he  has  so 


cobb's  sequel.  199 

many  furlongs  to  traverse :  he  observes  whether  he  meets  any 
t)f  his  acquaintance ;  he  inquires  respecting  their  health  and 
their  family ;  he  glances  his  eye,  perhaps,  at  the  shops  as  he 
passes ;  he  admires,  perchance,  the  fashion  of  a  buckle,  and 
the  metal  of  a  tea-urn. 

4.  If  he  experience  any  flights  of  fancy,  they  are  of  a  short 
extent ;  of  the  same  nature  as  the  flights  of  a  forest  bird 
clipped  of  his  wings,  and  condemned  to  pass  the  rest  of  his 
life  in  a  farm-yard. 

5.  On  the  other  hand,  the  man  of  talent  gives  full  scope  to 
his  imagination.  Unindebted  to  the  suggestions  of  surround- 
ing objects,  his  whole  soul  is  employed.  He  enters  into  nice 
calculations ;  he  digests  sagacious  reasonings.  In  imagination 
he  declaims,  or  describes,  impressed  with  the  deepest  sympa- 
thy, or  elevated  to  the  loftiest  rapture.  He  makes  a  thousand 
new  and  admirable  combinations.  He  passes  through  a  thou- 
sand imaginary  scenes,  tries  his  courage,  tasks  his  ingenuity, 
and  thus  becomes  gradually  prepared  to  meet  almost  any  of  the 
many-coloured  events  of  human  life. 

6.  If  he  observes  the  passengers,  he  reads  their  counte- 
nances, conjectures  their  past  history,  and  forms  a  superficial 
notion  of  their  wisdom  or  folly,  their  virtue  or  vice,  their  satis- 
faction or  misery.  If  he  observes  the  scenes  that  occur,  it  is 
with  the  eye  of  an  artist.  Every  object  is  capable  of  suggest- 
ing to  him  a  volume  of  reflections. 

7.  The  time  of  these  two  persons  in  one  respect  resembles ; 
it  has  brought  them  both  to  Hyde-park  Corner.  In  every  other 
respect  how  dissimilar !  Probably  nothing  has  contributed  so 
much  to  generate  these  opposite  habits  of  mind,  as  an  early 
taste  for  reading.  Books  gratify  and  excite  our  curiosity  in 
innumerable  ways. 

8.  They  force  us  to  reflect ;  they  present  direct  ideas  of  vari- 
ous kinds,  and  they  suggest  indirect  ones.  In  a  well-written 
book  we  are  presented  with  the  maturest  reflections,  or  the 
happiest  flights  of  a  mind  of  uncommon  excellence  ;  and  it  is 
impossible  that  we  can  be  much  accustomed  to  such  compan- 
ions, without  attaining  some  resemblance  of  them. — Godwin. 


«00  COBfe's    SEQUEL* 

LESSON  CXXX. 
Alliance  between  Religion  and  Liberty. 

\.  Religion  is  an  ennobling  principle.  It  tells  us  that  we 
are  of  a  divine  origin,  and  lie  in  the  arms  of  a  universal  Provi- 
dence ;  that  we  are  connected  with  immortal  powers  by  our 
dependance,  and  with  an  immortal  life  by  our  hopes  and  our 
destiny.  It  sets  at  a  far  higher  elevation  than  could  else  be 
thought  of,  the  dignity  of  our  race,  and  the  worth  of  the  intel* 
ligence  that  is  within  us. 

2.  It  inspires  the  conviction,  that  we  are  made  for  no  mean 
purposes ;  and  that  they  should  not  live  as  slaves  on  the  earth, 
who  are  encouraged  to  expect  something  beyond  its  highest 
distinctions.  It  gives  that  moral  courage  and  noble  intent* 
which  is  the  way  to  the  inheritance  of  the  best  advantages. 
How  often  has  it  been  seen  in  advance  of  prevailing  opinions 
and  manners,  leading  them  forward. 

3.  How  often  has  it  furnished  the  first  occasion  for  bold 
inquiries  to  go  forth,  and  liberal  truths  to  make  themselves 
felt  and  recognised  !  The  reply  has  been  well  pressed  on 
those,  who  have  wished  that  the  African  slaves  might  be  in- 
structed in  the  Christian  faith.  You  will  thus  make  them  im* 
patient  of  their  subjection ;  you  will  teach  them  to  be  free ; 
you  cannot  drive  and  scourge  the  bodies  of  a  population,  after 
you  have  emancipated  their  souls ;  keep  them,  if  you  would 
keep  them  at  all,  in  the  deepest  ignorance,  an  ignorance  as  dark 
as  God  has  made  their  skin,  and  as  abject  as  you  have  made 
their  fate. 

4.  Religion  is  an  equalising  principle.  It  treats  with  utter 
disregard  those  differences  among  men,  which  are  produced  by 
necessity,  altered  by  accident,  destroyed  by  time.  It  tells 
those  in  the  humblest  condition,  that  they  are  of  one  blood 
with  the  proudest;  and  that  the  common  Father,  who  has 
made  the  light  to  fall  as  sweet,  and  the  courses  of  nature  to 
roll  as  gloriously,  round  one  as  another,  has  appointed  a  world, 
in  wrhich  the  only  distinction  is  righteousness. 

5.  It  tells  the  great,  and  the  most  fully  prospered,  and  the 
most  brilliantly  endowed,  that  God  looks  not  on  the  outward 
appearance,  but  searches  the  heart.  It  binds  all  by  the  same 
obligations,  and  invites  all  to  the  same  blessings.  It  includes 
all  under  sin.  It  offers  the  same  consolations  for  troubles, 
from  which  the  most  favoured  classes  are  not  exempted. 


cobb's  sequel.  201 

(y.  It  points  to  an  impartial  Sovereign,  before.whom  the  high 
and  low,  they  who  govern,  and  they  who  serve,  stand  on 
the  common  level  of  humanity.  It  maintains  just  those  truths 
which  exalt  the  poor  in  spirit,  and  the  depressed  in  circum- 
stances, and  bring  down  the  haughty  imaginations  of  those  who 
would  lord  it  over  their  fellows.  It  shows  so  many  respects, 
in  which  we  are  alike  and  dependant,  as  to  forbid  presumption 
on  one  side ;  and,  on  the  other,  so  many  circumstances  by 
which  we  are  alike  distinguished,  as  to  raise  the  lowest  above 
base  compliances. 

7.  It  bows  us  down  together  in  prayer,  and  who  then  will 
boast  of  his  superiority  ?  It  assigns  us  our  rest  together  in  the 
dust,  and  what  then  will  become  of  the  superiority  ?  It  ranges 
us  together  before  the  judgement  seat,  and  how  will  the  oppres- 
sor appear  there  ? 

8.  Keligion  is  a  moral  principle,  essentially  and  vitally  so  ; 
and,  in  this  view,  its  importance  to  the  cause  of  freedom  is 
incalculable.  That  it  has  been  refined  away  into  unprofitable 
subtleties,  that  its  records  have  been  misinterpreted  into  all 
abomination,  and  its  services  fooled  into  mummery  and  a 
masque,  there  is  no  denying. 

9.  But  it  is  equally  undeniable  that  good  sentiments  and 
conduct  are  the  very  signs  of  its  life.  Its  great  law  is  duty. 
Its  crowning  glory  is  moral  excellence.  In  spite  of  all  the 
corruptions,  which  ignorance  and  fraud,  ambition  and  phrensy, 
have  neaped  upon  it,  it  has  been  always  accomplishing  much 
in  the  work  of  a  spiritual  regeneration. 

10.  It  has  spread  itself  through  the  masses  of  society,  like 
a  refiner's  fire.  That  it  does  no  more  for  the  community  we 
may  wonder,  perhaps ;  but  there  is  cause  of  thankfulness  that 
it  does  so  much.  It  is  the  most  precious  auxiliary  of  liberty, 
then ;  for,  without  moral  cultivation,  what  would  that  be  but 
lawlessness,  a  wild  state  of  insecurity  and  excesses  ?  It  is 
righteousness  that  makes  a  people  fit  to  be  free,  and  noble  in 
its  freedom. 

11.  Religion  is  an  independent  principle.  It  ill  bears  dicta- 
tion and  control.  It  is  jealous  of  its  freedom.  It  dwells  in 
its  own  world  of  thought,  and  hope,  and  sensibility,  and  refuses 
to  yield  there  to  the  hand  of  a  master.  It  sets  up  its  altars  and 
holy  usages ;  and  has  it  not  always  been  one  of  the  most  peril- 
ous attempts  of  tyranny  to  violate  or  overthrow  them  ?  "And, 
when  they  saw  the  sanctuary  desolate,  and  the  altar  profaned, 
they  blew  an  alarm  with  the  trumpets,  and  appealed  to  heaven." 

12.  Many  of  the  earliest  resistances  to  oppression  sprang 
from  indignation  at  an  abridged  liberty  here.     The  rights  of 


202  COBB'S    SEQUEL. 

conscience  Were  among  the  first  to  be  discerned  and  acted  on 
The  maintaining  of  them  long  preceded  the  abstract  discussions 
of  political  rights,  and  prepared  men  for  the  understanding  and 
defence  of  those  also. 

13.  The  patriot  has  taken  copy  of  the  martyr.  The  struggle 
for  free  thought,  has  led  on  the  struggle  for  free  government. 
There  is  a  force  in  religious  conviction  and  feeling,  that  is  the 
most  expansive  of  all  forces.  It  cannot  be  restrained  by  any 
arbitrary  impositions.  It  owns  obedience  to  nothing  but  the 
truth,  and  the  truth,  in  both  a  political  and  moral  sense,  makes 
men  free. — Frothingham. 


LESSON  CXXXI. 

Providence  Vindicated  in  the  Present  State  of  Man. 

1.  Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state ; 
From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits  know ; 
Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  ? 

The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 

2.  Oh,  blindness  to  the  future !  kindly  given, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  marked  by  heaven ; 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 

A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall ; 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 

And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world. 

3.  Hope  humbly  then  ;  with  trembling  pinions  soar; 
Wait  the  great  teacher,  Death  ;  and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss  he  gives  not  thee  to  know, 

But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 
Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast : 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. 
The  soul,  uneasy,  and  confined  from  home, 
Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 

4.  Lo,  the  poor  Indian  !  whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind ; 


cobb's  sequel.  203 

His  soul  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  Solar  Walk  or  Milky  Way ; 
Yet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  given, 
Behind  the  cloud-topped  hill,  an  humbler  heaven ; 
Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold, 

5.  To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire ; 

He  asks  no  angel's  wings,  no  seraph's  fire ; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 
Go,  wiser  thou  !  and  in  thy  scale  of  sense, 
Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence ; 
Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such ; 
Say  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much. 

6.  In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  errour  lies ; 
All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the  skies. 
Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes  ; 
Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods. 
Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell, 
Aspiring  to  be  angels,  men  rebel : 

And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 

Of  order,  sins  against  the  eternal  cause. — Pope, 


LESSON  CXXXII. 

Speech  of  a  Creek  Indian  in  a  Council  of  his  Nation,  against  the  use 
of  Spirituous  Liquors. 

1.  I  do  not  stand  up,  Oh,  countrymen  !  to  propose  the  plans 
of  war,  or  to  direct  the  wisdom  of  this  assembly  in  the  regula- 
tion of  our  alliances.  My  intention  is  to  open  to  your  view,  a 
subject  not  less  worthy  of  your  deliberate  notice. 

2.  I  perceive  the  eye  of  this  assembly  dwells  upon  me. 
Oh!  may  every  heart  be  unveiled  from  its  prejudices,  and 
receive  the  disinterested,  the  pious,  the  filial  obedience  I  owe 
to  my  country ;  when  I  step  forth  to  be  the  accuser  of  my 
brethren ;  not  of  treachery ;  not  of  cowardice ;  not  of  dei> 
ciency  in  the  noblest  of  all  passions,  the  love  of  the  publick : 
these,  I  glory  in  boasting,  are  incompatible  with  the  character 
PI?  a  Creek, 


2i>4  cobb's  sequel. 

3.  The  tyrant  I  arraign  before  you,  Oh,  Creeks  !  is  no  native 
of  our  soil,  but  a  lurking  miscreant,  an  emissary  of  the  evil 
principle  of  darkness.  It  is  that  pernicious  liquid,  which  our 
pretended  white  friends  artfully  introduced,  and  so  plentifully 
pour  in  among  us. 

4.  Tremble,  O  ye  Creeks  !  when  I  thunder  in  your  ears  thfo 
denunciation,,  that  if  the  cup  of  perdition  continue  to  ride  with 
so  intemperate  a  sway  among  us,  ye  will  cease  to  be  a  nation  t 
ye  will  have  neither  heads  to  direct,  nor  hands  to  protect ;  this 
diabolical  juice  will  undermine  all  the  powers  of  your  bodies 
and  minds.  In  the  day  of  battle,  the  warriour's  enfeebled  arm: 
will  draw  the  bow  with  inoffensive  zeal :  in  the  day  of  council  ; 
when  national  safety  hangs  suspended  on  the  lips  of  the  hoary* 
Sachem,  he  will  shake  his  head  with  uncollected  spirits,  ami 
drive  out  the  babblings  of  a  second  childhood. 

5.  Think  not,  Oh,  Creeks!  that  I  present  an  imaginary  picture, 
lo  amuse  or  affright :  it  is  too  evident !  it  is  too  fatally  evident, 
that  we  find  the  vigour  of  our  youth  abating ;  our  numbers 
decreasing;  our  ripened  manhood  a  premature  victim  to  dis- 
eases, to  sickness,  and  to  death ;  and  our  venerable  Sachems 
a  scanty  number. 

6.  Does  not  that  desertion  of  all  our  reasoning  powers, 
when  we  are  under  the  dominion  of  that  depraved  monster, 
that  barbarian  madness  wherewith  it  inspires  us,  prove,  beyond 
a  doubt,  that  it  dislocates  all  our  intellectual  faculties,  pulls 
down  reason  from  her  throne,  and  dissipates  every  ray  of  the 
Divinity  within  us  ?  I  need  not,  I  hope,  make  it  a  question  to 
any  in  this  assembly,  whether  he  would  prefer  the  intemperate 
use  of  this  liquor,  to  clear  perceptions,  sound  judgement,  and 
a  mind  exulting  in  its  own  reflections  ? 

7.  However  great  may  be  the  force  of  habit,  how  insinua- 
ting soever  the  influence  of  example,  I  persuade  myself,  and  I 
perceive  by  your  countenances,  Oh,  Creeks  !  that  there  is  not 
one  before  whom  I  stand,  so  shameless,  so  lost  to  the  weakest 
impulses  of  humanity,  that  the  very  whisperings  of  reason,  as 
not  to  acknowledge  the  turpitude  of  such  a  choice. 


COBB'S    SEQUEL,  206 

LESSON  CXXXIIL 
Patience  under  Provocations,  our  Interest  as  well  as  Duty. 

1.  The  wide  circle  of  human  society  is  diversified  by  an 
endless  variety  of  characters,  dispositions,  and  passions.  Uni- 
formity is,  in  no  respect,  the  genius  of  the  world.  Every  man 
is  marked  by  some  peculiarity  which  distinguishes  him  from 
another :  and  no  where  can  two  individuals  be  found,  who  are 
exactly  and  in  all  respects  alike.  Where  so  much  diversity 
obtains,  it  cannot  but  happen,  that  in  the  intercourse  which 
men  are  obliged  to  maintain,  their  tempers  will  often  be  ill 
adjusted  to  that  intercourse  ;  will  jar,  and  interfere  with  each 
other. 

2.  Hence,  in  every  station,  the  highest  as  well  as  the  lowest, 
and  in  every  condition  of  life,  publick,  private,  and  domestick, 
occasions  of  irritation  frequently  arise.  We  are  provoked, 
sometimes,  by  the  folly  and  levity  of  those  with  whom  we  are 
connected ;  sometimes,  by  their  indifference  or  neglect ;  by 
the  incivility  of  a  friend,  the  haughtiness  of  a  superiour,  or 
the  insolent  behaviour  of  one  in  lower  station. 

3.  Hardly  a  day  passes,  without  somewhat  or  other  occur- 
ring, which  serves  to  ruffle  the  man  of  impatient  spirit.  Of 
course,  such  a  man  lives  in  a  continual  storm.  He  knows  not 
what  it  is  to  enjoy  a  train  of  good  humour.  Servants,  neigh- 
bours, friends,  spouse,  and  children,  all,  through  the  unre- 
strained violence  of  his  temper,  become  sources  of  disturbance 
and  vexation  to  him.  In  vain  is  affluence  ;  in  vain  are  health 
and  prosperity.  The  least  trifle  is  sufficient  to  discompose 
his  mind,  and  poison  his  pleasures.  His  very  amusements 
are  mixed  with  turbulence  and  passion. 

4.  I  would  beseech  this  man  to  consider,  of  what  small 
moment  the  provocations  which  he  receives,  or  at  least  ima- 
gines himself  to  receive,  are  really  in  themselves ;  but  of  what 
great  moment  he  makes  them,  by  suffering  them  to  deprive  him 
of  the  possession  of  himself.  I  would  beseech  him  to  con- 
sider how  many  hours  of  happiness  he  throws  away,  which  a 
little  more  patience  would  allow  him  to  enjoy  :  and  how  much 
he  puts  it  in  the  power  of  the  most  insignificant  persons  to 
render  him  miserable. 

5.  "  But  who  can  expect,"  we  hear  him  exclaim,  "  that  he 
is  to  possess  the  insensibility  of  a  stone  ?  How  is  it  possible 
for  human  nature  to  endure  so  many  repeated  provocations'? 
or  to  bear  calmly  with  so  unreasonable   behaviour  V*     My 

18 


206  cobb's  sequel. 

brother!  if  thou  canst  hear  with  no  instances  of  unreasonable 
behaviour,  withdraw  thyself  from  the  world.  Thou  art  no 
longer  fit  to  live  in  it.  Leave  the  intercourse  of  men.  Re- 
treat  to  the  mountain,  and  the  desert ;  or  shut  thyself  up  in  a 
cell.     For  here,  in  the  midst  of  society,  offences  must  come. 

6.  We  might  as  well  expect,  when  we  behold  a  calm  atmo- 
sphere, and  a  clear  sky,  that  no  clouds  were  ever  to  rise,  and 
no  winds  to  blow,  as  that  our  life  were  long  to  proceed,  without 
receiving  provocations  from  human  frailty.  The  careless  and 
the  imprudent,  the  giddy  and  the  fickle,  the  ungrateful  and  the 
interested,  every  where  meet  us.  They  are  the  briers  and 
thorns,  with  which  the  paths  of  human  life  are  beset.  He 
only,  who  can  hold  his  course  among  them  with  patience  and 
equanimity,  he  who  is  prepared  to  bear  what  he  must  expect 
to  happen,  is  worthy  of  the  name  of  man. 

7.  If  we  preserved  ourselves  composed  but  for  a  moment, 
we  should  perceive  the  insignificancy  of  most  of  those  provo- 
cations which  we  magnify  so  highly.  When  a  few  suns  more 
have  rolled  over  our  heads,  the  storm  will,  of  itself,  have  sub- 
sided :  the  cause  of  our  present  impatience  and  disturbance 
will  be  utterly  forgotten.  Can  we  not  then  anticipate  this 
hour  of  calmness  to  ourselves ;  and  begin  to  enjoy  the  peace 
which  it  will  certainly  bring  ? 

8.  If  others  have  behaved  improperly,  let  us  leave  them  to 
their  own  folly,  without  becoming  the  victim  of  their  caprice, 
and  punishing  ourselves  on  their  account.  Patience,  in  this 
exercise  of  it,  cannot  be  too  much  studied  by  all  who  wish 
their  life  to  flow  in  a  smooth  stream.  It  is  the  reason  of  a 
man,  in  opposition  to  the  passion  of  a  child.  It  is  the  enjoy- 
ment of  peace,  in  opposition  to  uproar  and  confusion. — Blair, 


LESSON  CXXXIV. 

DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 

The  Unanimous  Declaration  of  the  Congress  of  the  Thirteen  United 
States  of  America,  passed  July  4,  1776. 

1.  When,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  neces- 
sary for  one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands  which  have 
connected  them  with  another,  and  to  assume,  among  the  powers 
of  the  earth,  the  separate  and  equal  station  to  which  the  laws 
of  nature  and  of  nature's  God  entitle  them,  a  decent  respect 


COBB'S    SEQVEL.  20? 

to  the  opinions  of  mankind  requires  that  they  should  declare 
the  causes  which  impel  them  to  the  separation. 

2.  We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident :  that  all  men  are 
created  equal,  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with 
certain  unalienable  rights ;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  happiness.  That  to  secure  these  rights, 
governments  are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just 
powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed  J  that  whenever  any 
form  of  government  becomes  destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is 
the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and  to  institute 
a  new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on  such  principles,  and 
organizing  its  powers  in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall  seem  most 
likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness.  Prudence,  indeed, 
will  dictate,  that  governments  long  established  should  not  be 
changed  for  light  and  transient  causes;  and,  accordingly,  all  ex- 
perience hath  shown,  that  mankind  are  more  disposed  to  suffer, 
while  evils  are  sufferable,  than  to  right  themselves  by  abolishing 
the  forms  to  which  they  are  accustomed.  But  when  a  long 
train  of  abuses  and  usurpations,  pursuing  invariably  the  same 
object,  evinces  a  design  to  reduce  them  under  absolute  des- 
potism, it  is  their  right,  it  is  their  duty,  to  throw  off  such  gov- 
ernment, and  to  provide  new  guards  for  their  future  security. 
Such  has  been  the  patient  sufferance  of  these  colonies ;  and 
such  is  now  the  necessity  which  constrains  them  to  alter  their 
former  systems  of  government.  The  history  of  the  present 
king  of  Great  Britain,  is  a  history  of  repeated  injuries  and  usur- 
pations, all  having,  in  direct  object,  the  establishment  of  an 
absolute  tyrrany  over  these  states.  To  prove  this,  let  facts  be 
submitted  to  a  candid  world. 

3.  He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws  the  most  wholesome 
and  necessary  for  the  publick  good. 

4.  He  has  forbidden  his  governours  to  pass  laws  of  immediate 
and  pressing  importance,  unless  suspended  in  their  operation, 
till  his  assent  should  be  obtained ;  and  when  so  suspended,  he 
has  utterly  neglected  to  attend  to  them.  He  has  refused  to 
pass  other  laws  for  the  accommodation  of  large  districts  of 
people,  unless  those  people  would  relinquish  the  right  of  repre 
sentation  in  the  legislature,  a  right  inestimable  to  them,  and 
formidable  to  tyrants  only. 

5.  He  has  called  together  legislative  bodies  at  places  unusual, 
uncomfortable,  and  distant  from  the  repository  of  their  publick 
records,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing  them  into  compliance 
with  his  measures. 

6.  He  has  dissolved  representative  houses  repeatedly,  for 
opposing,  with  manly  firmness,  his  invasions  on  the  rights  of 
the  people. 


208  ,  cobb's  sequel. 

7.  He  has  refused,  for  a  long  time  after  such  dissolutions,  to 
cause  others  to  be  elected ;  whereby  the  legislative  powers, 
incapable  of  annihilation,  have  returned  to  the  people  at  large, 
for  their  exercise,  the  state  remaining,  in  the  mean  time, 
exposed  to  all  the  dangers  of  invasion  from  without,  and  con- 
vulsions within. 

8.  He  has  endeavoured  to  prevent  the  population  of  these 
states ;  for  that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  naturalization 
of  foreigners;  refusing  to  pass  others  to  encourage  their 
migration  hither,  and  raising  the  conditions  of  new  appropria- 
tions of  land. 

9.  He  has  obstructed  the  administration  of  justice,  by  refusing 
his  assent  to  laws  for  establishing  judiciary  powers. 

10.  He  has  made  judges  dependant  on  his  will  alone,  for  the 
tenure  of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their 
salaries. 

11.  He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  new  offices,  and  sent  hither 
swarms  of  officers,  to  harass  our  people,  and  eat  out  their 
substance. 

12.  He  has  kept  among  us,  in  times  of  peace,  standing  armies, 
without  the  consent  of  our  legislatures. 

13.  He  has  affected  to  render  the  military  independent  of, 
and  superiour  to,  the  civil  power. 

14.  He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdic- 
tion foreign  to  our  constitution,  and  unacknowledged  by  our 
laws ;  giving  his  assent  to  their  acts  of  pretended  legislation : 

15.  For  quartering  large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us : 

16.  For  protecting  them,  by  a  mock  trial,  from  punishment, 
for  any  murders  which  they  should  commit  on  the  inhabitants 
of  these  states : 

17.  For  cutting  off  our  trade  with  all  parts  of  the  world : 

18.  For  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent : 

19.  For  depriving  us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  benefits  of  trial 
by  jury : 

20.  For  transporting  us  beyond  seas,  to  be  tried  for  pre- 
tended offences  : 

21.  For  abolishing  the  free  system  of  English  laws  in  a 
neighbouring  province,  establishing  therein  an  arbitrary  gov- 
ernment, and  enlarging  its  boundaries,  so  as  to  render  it  at 
once  an  example  and  fit  instrument  for  introducing  the  same 
absolute  rule  into  these  colonies : 

22.  For  taking  away  our  charters,  abolishing  our  most 
valuable  laws,  and  altering,  fundamentally,  the  forms  of  our 
governments : 

23.  For  suspending   our  own  legislatures,   and   declaring 


Cobb's  sequel.  209 

themselves  invested  with  power  to  legislate  for  us  in  all  cases 
whatsoever. 

24.  He  has  abdicated  government  here,  by  declaring  us  out 
of  his  protection,  and  waging  war  against  us. 

25.  He  has  plundered  our  seas,  ravaged  our  Coasts,  burnt 
our  towns,  and  destroyed  the  lives  of  our  people* 

20.  He  is  at  this  time  transporting  large  armies  of  foreign 
mercenaries,  to  complete  the  works  of  death,  desolation,  and 
tyranny,  already  begun,  with  circumstances  of  cruelty  and 
perfidy,  scarcely  paralleled  in  the  most  barbarous  ages,  and 
totally  unworthy  the  head  of  a  civilized  nation. 

?ti.  He  has  constrained  our  fellow*citizens,  taken  captive  on 
the  high  seas,  to  bear  arms  against  their  country*  to  become 
the  executioners  of  their  friends  and  brethren,  or  to  fall  them- 
selves by  their  hands. 

28.  He  has  excited  domestick  insurrections  among  us,  and 
has  endeavoured  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants  of  our  frontiers, 
the  merciless  Indian  savages,  whose  known  rule  of  warfare  is 
an  undistinguished  destruction  of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  conditions* 

29.  In  every  stage  of  these  oppressions,  we  have  petitioned 
for  redress  in  the  most  humble  terms  :  our  repeated  petitions 
have  been  answered  only  by  repeated  injury. 

30.  A  prince,  whose  character  is  thus  marked  by  every  act 
Which  may  define  a  tyrant,  is  unfit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a  free 
people. 

31.  Nor  have  we  been  wanting  in  attentions  to  our  British 
brethren.  We  have  warned  them,  from  time  to  time,  of  attempts 
by  their  legislature  to  extend  an  unwarrantable  jurisdiction 
over  us.  We  have  reminded  them  of  the  circumstances 
of  our  emigration  and  settlement  here.  We  have  appealed 
to  their  native  justice  and  magnanimity*  and  we  have  conjured 
them,  by  the  ties  of  our  common  kindred,  to  disavow  these 
usurpations,  which  would  inevitably  interrupt  our  connexions 
and  correspondence.  They  too  have  been  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
justice  and  of  consanguinity.  We  must,  therefore,  acquiesce  in 
the  necessity  which  denounces  our  separation,  and  hold  them,  as 
we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind,  enemies  in  war,  in  peace,  friends* 

32.  We,  therefore,  the  representatives  of  the  United  States 
of  America,  in  general  Congress  assembled,  appealing  to  the 
Supreme  Judge  of  the  world,  for  the  rectitude  of  our  intentions, 
do,  in  the  name  and  by  the  authority  of  the  good  people  of  these 
colonies,  solemnly  publish  and  declare,  that  these  United  Colo- 
nies are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent  states; 
that  they  are  absolved  from  all  allegiance  to  the  British  crown, 
and  that  all  political  connexion  between  them  and  the  state  of 

18* 


^10 


COBB  S    SEQUEL. 


Great  Britain,  is,  and  ought  to  be,  totally  dissolved ;  and  that,  as 
free  and  independent  states,  they  have  full  power  to  levy  war, 
conclude  peace,  contract  alliances,  establish  commerce,  and  to 
do  all  other  acts  and  things  which  independent  states  may  of 
right  do.  And  for  the  support  of  this  declaration,  with  a  firm 
reliance  on  the  protection  of  Divine  Providence,  we  mutually 
pledge  to  each  other  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred 
honours. 

JOHN  HANCOCK,  President 


New  Hampshire. 

Josiah  Bartlett, 
William  Whipple, 
Matthew  Thornton. 

Massachusetts  Bay. 
Samuel  Adams, 
John  Adams, 
Robert  Treat  Painef 
Elbridge  Gerry. 

Rhode  Island^  &c. 
Stephen  Hopkins, 
William  Ellery. 

Connecticut. 
Roger  Sherman, 
Samuel  Huntington, 
William  Williams, 
Oliver  Wolcott. 

New  York. 
William  Floyd, 
Phillip  Livingston, 
Francis  Lewis, 
Lewis  Morris. 


New  Jersey. 
Richard  Stockton, 
John  Witherepoon, 
Francis  Hopkinson, 
John  Hart, 
Abraham  Clark. 

Pennsylvania. 
Robert  Morris, 
Benjamin  Rush, 
Benjamin  Franklin, 
John  Morton, 
George  Clymer, 
James  Smith, 
George  Taylor, 
James  Wilson, 
George  Ross. 

Delaware. 
Cesar  Rodney, 
George  Read, 
Thomas  M'Kean. 

Maryland. 
Samuel  Chase, 
William  Paca, 


Thomas  Stone, 

C.  Carroll,  of  Carrollton. 

Virginia. 
George  Wythe, 
Richard  Henry  Lee, 
Thomas  Jefferson, 
Benjamin  Harrison, 
Thomas  Nelson,  jr. 
Francis  Lightfoot  Lee, 
Carter  Braxton. 

North  Carolina. 
William  Hooper, 
Joseph  Hewes, 
John  Penn. 

South  Carolina. 
Edward  Rutledge, 
Thomas  Hay  ward,  jr. 
Thomas  Lynch,  jr. 
Arthur  Middleton. 

Georgia. 
Burton  Gwinnett, 
Lyman  Hall, 
George  Walton. 


SCHOOL    BOOKS, 

BY 

LYMAN  COBB. 

FOR  SALE  AT  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOOKSTORES  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


Cobb's  FIRST  BOOK,  or,  Introduction  to  the  Spelling- 
Book,  designed  for  the  use  of  small  children.  This  little  work  contains 
the  Alphabet,  and  easy  words  of  one,  two,  and  three  syllables,  in  which 
there  are  no  double  vowels,  or  consonants,  or  silent  letters,  and  only  the 
long  and  short  sounds  of  the  vowels. 

Cobb's  SPELLING-BOOK,  containing  the  rudiments  of  the 

English  Language,  arranged  in  catechetical  order ;  an  organization  of 

the  Alphabet ;  a  greater  number  of  spelling  lessons  than  are  generally 

inserted  in  Spelling-Books ;  many  useful  tables ;  and  the  proper  names 

in  the  New  Testament.    Designed  to  teach  the  orthography  and  orthoepy 

of  J.  Walker. 

"  This  Spelling-Book  has  peculiar  claims  to  attention.  Mr.  Cobb  might, 
we  think,  have  done  a  signal  service  to  education,  by  publishing  a  cor- 
rected abridgment  of  Walker's  Dictionary,  or  a  vocabulary  of  disputed 
or  doubtful  words.  He  has  evidently  bestowed  much  attention  on  such 
subjects ;  and  even  his  Spelling-Book  wears  a  formidable  air  of  authority, 
from  the  labour  and  research  by  which  it  is  characterized.  The  lessons 
are  uncommonly  full  and  accurate.  The  whole  work,  indeed,  is  highly 
creditable  to  the  author's  intelligence  and  industry." — American  Journal 
of  Education. 

11  The  author  has  certainly  evinced  great  industry  and  research,  and 
has  shown  himself  well  acquainted  with  the  department  in  which  he  has 
so  diligently  laboured."— New  York  Times. 

"  Cobb's  Spelling-Book  is,  we  are  confident,  by  far  the  most  correct  one 
at  present  to  be  found." — Cleaveland  (Ohio)  Herald. 

"  The  plan  and  general  arrangement  of  the  book  are,  probably,  the  best 
which,  in  a  mere  Spelling-Book,  can  be  adopted.  It  contains  a  greater 
number  of  words,  and  those  more  accurately  classed  in  the  several  tables, 
than  we  have  noticed  in  any  other  Spelling-Book." — Geneva  Gazette. 

"  The  whole  arrangement  of  the  lessons  is  more  simplified,  and  better 
adapted  to  the  capacity  of  the  child,  than  that  of  the  books  in  general  use." 
— Catskill  Recorder. 

"  Its  correctness  of  spelling  and  pronunciation,  the  excellent  arrange- 
ment and  extensive  number  of  words,  render  it  a  most  interesting  work." 
-Montrose  (Pa.)  Gazette. 

11  The  classification  of  words  is  judicious,  and  the  tables  are  systemati- 
cally arranged." — he  Roy  Gazette. 

"  The  author  seems  to  have  stripped  the  work,  as  much  as  possible,  of 
all  perplexity.  His  rudiments  are  simple  and  comprehensive.  His  les- 
sons are  well  arranged,  and  composed  of  words  most  admirably  selected." 
— Fredonia  Censor.    * 


312  NOTICES. 

Cobb's  Abridgment  of  J.  Walker's  CRITICAL  PRONOUN- 
CING DICTIONARY.    In  this  Dictionary.  Mr.  Walker's  principles 
of  orthography  and  pronunciation  are  strictly  followed;  and,  in  addition, 
each  word  is  systematically  divided ;  the  secondary  accent  noted ;  the 
plurals  of  nouns,  the  present  tense  and  preterit  of  verbs,  the  participles, 
and  the  variable  adjectives,  are  inserted ;  and  all  useless  repetitions  01 
words  are  avoided ;  to  which  are  prefixed,  concise  Principles  of  Pro- 
nunciation, and  rules  for  accentuation  and  the  division  of  words  :  with 
an  Appendix,  containing  a  class  of  words  which  are  in  common  use  in 
this  country,  and  not  found  in  Walker's  Dictionaiy. 
"  Mr.  Cobb  has  recently  published  an  Abridgment  of  Walker's  Dic- 
tionary, in  the  usual  size  and  form  of  Dictionary  abridgments.     We  have 
given  the  work  some  attention,  and  found  it,  in  many  important  respects, 
superiour  to  those  that  are  in  ordinaiy  use.  ,  The  plurals  of  nouns  are 
given,  and  the  preterits  and  participles  of  verbs ;  the  words  are  all  divided 
into  syllables,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  any  Dictionary,  have  the  mark  of 
the  secondary  accent." — U.  S.  {Philadelphia)  Gazette. 

u  Cobb's  Dictionary  has  been  put  into  our  hands  lately,  and  upon  a 
cursory  examination,  We  have  found  it  to  be  a  compilation  made  with  care 
and  accuracy.  The  author  has  adopted  the  pronunciation  of  Walker 
throughout,  as  found  in  the  London  editions.  We  must  still  think  it  is 
entitled  to  the  preference  over  any  other.  Asa  standard  of  orthoepy,  we 
are  decisively  of  opinion,  after  long  attention  to  the  subject,  and  much 
investigation  Walker's  system  is  preferable  to  any  other  that  has  appeared 
either  this  side  the  Atlantick  or  the  other.  Mr.  Cobb's  Dictionary  contains 
the  plurals  of  nouns  and  the  preterits  of  verbs,  as  forming  an  additional 
syllable  by  the  addition  of  5  or  es,  &c.  To  these  are  added,  the  parti- 
ciples and  adjectives,  which  will  occasionally  be  found  convenient. "-»- 
New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  Mr.  Cobb's  School  Dictionary  seems  calculated  to  be  very  useful  to 
children  and  foreigners  learning  the  language.  He  has  followed  Walker, 
and  made  his  compilation  from  the  best  London  editions ;  adding  the  plurals 
of  nouns  and  preterits  of  verbs,  the  participles  and  variable  adjectives,  &c. 
all  of  which,  to  foreigners  especially,  must  obviously  be  of  great  service.'* 
• — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  Its  superiority  in  the  particulars  we  have  named,  gives  the  work  de- 
cisive advantages  for  the  use  of  schools,  and  as  a  help  to  foreigners  who 
may  be  learning  the  English  language." — New  York  Atlas* 

11  This  work  has  been  compiled  apparently  with  great  Care.  Several 
instances  of  improvement  might  be  adduced,  which  render  this  work 
Valuable.*' — Ncio  York  Morning  Herald. 

"  We  are  thus  particular  in  our  notice  of  this  work,  because  the  subject 
is  of  importance,  and  because  we  believe  the  abridgment  to  surpass  many 
others,  if  not  all  others,  which  have  preceded  it,  and  which  are  now  in  use. 
"  We  avail  ourselves  of  this  occasion  to  say,  that  our  language,  and  all 
such  as  feel  an  interest  in  the  prevalence  of  correct  orthography  and  orthoepy , 
and  especially  such  as  desire  to  give  young  minds  a  right  direction  in  these 
respectSj  owe  much  to  the  author  of  this  abridgment." — Albany  Argus. 

"  Besides  the  orthography  and  pronunciation  of  Walker,  the  compiler 
has  given  the  plurals  of  nouns,  the  present  and  preterit  of  verbs,  and  made 
some  other  additions,  which  can  not  fail  to  be  beneficial  to  the  learner."— 
Phila  dclj/Ji  ia  Post, 


NOTICES.  213 

Cobb's  JUVENILE  READER,  No.  1 ;  containing  interesting, 

moral,  and  instructive  Reading  Lessons,  composed  of  easy  words  of 
one  and  two  syllables.  Designed  for  the  use  of  small  children  in  fami- 
lies and  schools. 

"  The  author  of  a  well  known  edition  of  Walker's  Dictionary  has  pub- 
lished the  first  No.  of  a  book  called  the  Juvenile  Reader.  The  work  is 
intended  to  lead  the  child  by  an  easy  gradation  from  easy  to  difficult  read- 
ings, and  the  lessons  are  selected  from  authors  of  reputation." — New  York 
Boening  Post. 

"  We  have  before  us  a  neat  little  manual  bearing  the  above  title.  It  is 
the  first  of  a  series  of  reading  books  for  children,  '  containing  interesting, 
moral,  and  instructive  reading  lessons,  composed  of  easy  words  of  one 
and  two  syllables.'  Mr.  Cobb  is  advantageously  known  as  the  author  of 
an  excellent  Spelling-Book,  and  School  Dictionary,  and  is  eminently  quali- 
fied to  compile  elementary  works  for  youth.  Mr.  Cobb  very  properly 
discards  the  plan  of  placing  dialogues  between  brutes  before  children,  as 
he  conceives  they  are  destitute  of  truth,  and  contrary  to  the  principles  of 
nature  and  sound  philosophy." — New  York  Evening  Journal. 

"  From  a  glance  at  this  work,  which  we  have  thus  far  been  only  able  to 
give  it,  we  deem  it  one  worthy  of  commendation." — New  York  Mercantile 
Advertiser. 

"  Mr.  Cobb's  Juvenile  Reader,  No.  1,  is  executed  in  a  very  pretty  and 
appropriate  manner,  with  distinct  typography,  and  on  fine  paper.  It  is 
also  embellished  with  a  few  cuts,  which  will  give  it  attractions  for  the 
youthful  class,  in  reference  to  whose  wants  it  has  been  prepared.  But  its 
higher  characteristicks,  in  its  adaptation  of  style  and  language  to  the  uses 
for  which  it  was  designed,  are  those  which  lead  us  to  mention  the  unpre- 
tending little  volume.  Its  peculiarities  consist  mainly  in  such  a  selection 
of  words,  that  none  may  be  beyond  the  comprehension  or  the  orthoepick 
skill  of  children  just  beginning  to  read ;  so  that  they  may  enter  on  this 
acquirement  with  the  fewest  possible  obstacles ;  and  their  progress  being 
thus  facilitated,  they  may  the  more  easily  gain  a  fondness  for  an  art,  the 
possession  of  which  lies  at  the  very  foundation  of  most  branches  of  useful 
knowledge." — New  York  Atlas. 

"  Cobb's  Juvenile  Reader,  No.  1,  is  the  first  number  of  a  series  of  small 
books,  designed  to  aid  children  in  their  first  essays  at  reading,  by  L.  Cobb, 
author  of  a  Spelling-Book,  and  other  works  for  instruction.  The  aim  of 
the  author  appears  to  be,  to  lead  the  young  reader  by  easy  and  regular 
gradations,  from  simple  to  complex  sentences,  graduating  at  every  stage, 
the  subject,  matter,  and  the  style,  to  the  advancement  of  the  pupils  under- 
standing. The  importance  of  such  a  course  of  reading,  to  most  children, 
must  be  obvious.  A  very  common  errour,  in  all  books  of  this  class,  which 
have  fallen  under  our  inspection,  is  that  polysyllables  are  copiously  introdu- 
ced into  even  the  earliest  reading  lessons,  and  the  language  is  too  elevated  for 
juvenile  comprehension.  The  natural  effect  is,  that  the  reading  of  the 
child  is  purely  mechanical ;  he  learns  to  read  words  without  connecting 
ideas  with  them,  and  the  consequence  to  the  child  can  not  be  misconceived. 

"  The  author  of  the  Juvenile  Reader  seems  to  have  avoided  these  errours, 
while  he  has  given  to  the  child  a  neat  and  interesting  little  volume  from 
which  he  can  not  fail  to  derive  important  lessons  in  morality.  One  feature 
of  this  work,  strikes  us  to  be  of  great  importance :  "  That  in  the  course  of 
the  numbers,  all  the  words  of  variable  or  doubtful  orthography  in  the 
English  language  will  be  given."—  Truth  Teller. 


«Jl4  NOTICES. 

Cobb's  JUVENILE  READER,  No.  2;  containing  interesting', 

moral,  and  instructive  reading  lessons,  composed  of  words  of  one,  two, 

and  three  syllables.     Designed,  in  connexion  with  No.  1,  to  accompany 

the  Spelling-Book. 
Cobb's  JUVENILE  READER,  No.  3 ;  containing  interesting, 

historical,  moral,  arid  instructive  reading  lessons,  composed  of  words  of 

a  greater  number  of  syllables  than  the  lessons  in  Nos.  1  and  2 ;  and  a 

greater  variety  of  composition,  both  in  prose  and  poetry,  selected  from 

the  writings  of  the  best  American  and  English  Authors.     With  obser^ 

vations  on  the  Principles  of  good  Reading* 

"  Cobb's  Juvenile  Reader,  Nos.  1,  2,  and  3.— These  little  volumes, 
together,  form  a  series  of  elementary  reading  books,  graduated  to  the  capa^ 
cities  and  tastes  Of  children.  The  writer  has  been  at  some  pains  to  arrange 
the  different  lessons  in  such  a  manner,  that  each  preceding  one  shall 
prepare  the  pupil  for  the  one  that  follows,  both  as  to  orthography  and 
subject.*— New  York  American. 

"  We  are  not  aware  of  any  reading  book,  for  beginners  in  schools,  in 
Which  the  number  of  syllables  is  limited  as  in  the  first  and  second  numbers 
of  this  Work."— New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  These  books  will  become  valuable  in<  our  schools,  where  primary 
instruction  is  going  on." — New  York  Evening  Journal. 

"  We  think  very  favourably  of  this  work,  both  as  regards  manner  and 
matter." — New  York  Mercantile  Advertiser. 

"  The  first  book  will  be  a  valuable  auxiliary  to  the  little  curly-headed  and 
rosy-cheeked  gentlemen. 

"  The  second  book  is  adapted  to  children  of  a  more  advanced  age. 

"  The  third  claims  a  more  serious  notice.  In  it  much  instruction  in  the 
elements  of  natural  philosophy  and  history  is  conveyed  to  the  more 
advanced  and  intelligent  reader.  The  brief  chapters  on  the  dog,  alum, 
cork,  the  horse,  heat,  licorice,  and  light,  are  precisely  the  kind  of  composi- 
tion to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  youth.^-New  York  Mirror. 

11  Messrs.  Collins  &  Hannay  have  published  Cobb's  Juvenile  Reader t 
designed  for  the  use  of  small  children,  in  families  and  schools.  It  appears 
to  be  well  adapted  for  the  purpose." — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Inquirer. 

"  The  books  are  the  best  that  have  come  to  our  knowledge. "^New  York 
Sentinel. 

"  The  Juvenile  Reader  consists  of  a  series,  in  three  numbers,  adapted  to 
the  different  ages  of  the  learner.  It  is  due  to  Mr.  Cobb,  to  add,  that  in  this 
branch  of  instruction,  so  essential  to  the  subsequent  progress  of  the  pupil, 
as  well  as  in  his  works  of  a  higher  grade,  such  as  his  Spelling-Book  and 
Dictionary)  this  community  stand  greatly  indebted  to  him  for  his  indefati- 
gable exertions,  and  for  the  assiduous  application  of  practical  and  useful 
ta\ents."^-Albany  Argus. 

"We  have  received  Cobb's  Juvenile  Reader,  Nos.  1,  2,  and  3,  con- 
taining progressive  lessons.  In  the  little  volumes  before  us,  Mr.  C.  has,  in 
addition  to  a  judicious  selection  of  subjectSj  and  progressive  arrangement 
of  words,  been  careful  to  introduce  many  words  most  liable  to  be  misspelled. 
With  these  advantages,  Mr.  Cobb's  books  may  claim  a  place  in  our  primary 
schools,  upon  the  tenable  ground  of  usefulness. —  U.  S.  (PhiVa.)  Gazette. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  great  improvement  which,  of  late  years,  has  taken 
place  in  children's  books,  there  was  still  a  want  of  elementary  works,  of  a 
proper  description,  and  the  one  before  us,  which  seems  well  calculated  to 
supply  the  deficiency  must  be  found  very  useful."— Am.  Boston  Traveller, 


NOTICES,  215 

NOTICES  OF   COBB'S    EXPLANATORY    AHITHMETICK. 

w  Mr.  Cobb,  already  well  known  by  his  Spelling-Book,  his  School  Dic- 
tionary, and  other  works  for  beginners,  has  applied  a  clear  and  discrimi^ 
ruiting  mind,  to  abate  the  difficulties  to  first  learners,  (and  many  there  are 
who  never  overcome  them,)  of  the  rules  and  practice  of  Arithmetick.  The 
merit  of  this  little  treatise  is,  that  it  illustrates  plainly  and  intelligibly  to 
any  capacity,  the  principles  on  which  the  several  rules  depend,  and  gives 
a  reason  for  every  result  and  process,  thus  satisfying  the  understanding, 
instead  of  merely  tasking  the  memory.  "We  think  teachers  must  fjncj 
benefit  from  adopting  this  Arithmetick. "^-New  York  American. 

"  It  combines  theoretical  with  mental  Arithmetick,  and  in  giving  the 
usual  rules,  enters  into  a  detailed  explanation  of  the  reason  on  which  it  is 
founded.    The  plan  appears  to  us  a  good  one."— New  York  Evening  Post, 

"  Mr  Lyman  Cobb,  of  New  York,  who  has  been  so  successful  in  the 
compilation  of  a  Dictionary  and  a  Speiling-Book,  for  schools,  has  recently 
published  a  very  small  book,  which  he  calls  ft  Explanatory  Arithmetick. 
It  is  entirely  elementary,  and  in  arrangement  and  plan,  takes  a  middle 
ground  with  reference  to  the  works  of  Daboll,  Walsh,  and  Adams,  and 
those  of  Smi|th,  Colburn,  and  Emerson.  The  former,  it  will  be  recollected, 
gave  rules,  with  few  or  no  explanations..  The  latter  omitted  rules,  and 
depended  entirely  on  illustration.  The  attempt  of  Mr.  Cobb  is  worth  the 
notice  of  teachers.  The  mental  operation,  it  has  always  appeared  to  us, 
required  some  visible  sign,  and  some  established  rules." —  U.  S.  Qazette. 

"  The  table  belonging  to  each  rule  is  first  given,  and  then  the  examples 
follow  for  mental  exercise.  Each  rule  is  also  accompanied  with  examples 
for  theoretical  as  well  as  practical  exercise,  in  which  is  imbodied  much 
useful  information.  The  work  is  altogether  a  clever  performance,  and 
will  much  facilitate  both  the  instructer  and  scholar."—.^  Y.  Mer.  Ad. 

"  The  author  appears  to  have  applied  to  this  little  treatise,  a  clear  and 
well-disciplined  mind,  and  to  have  wrought  out,  for  beginners  in  Arithme- 
tick,  a  compendium  of  rules  and  practice  that  will  facilitate  their  advance^- 
ment  in  the  study.  Its  leading  merit  is,  that  it  illustrates  plainly  and  in* 
telligibly.  to  any  capacity,  the  principles  on  which  the  several  rules  de-r 
pend ;  and  gives  a  reason  for  every  result  and  process ;  thus  satisfying  the 
understanding,  instead  of  merely  tasking  the  memory." — American  (Bos-> 
to7i)  Traveller. 

"  No  1,  which  is  before  us,  contains  only  the  fundamental  rujes  of 
Arithmetick ;  but  they  are  presented  in  a  manner  at  once  so  simple  and 
Jucid,  and  have  so  many  examples  for  mental  and  mathematical  operations, 
that  no  child  can  pass  through  the  book,  under  the  direction  of  a  faithful 
teacher,  without  having  the  rules,  their  reasons,  and  their  uses,  indelibly 
ftxed  in  his  memory.  No.  2,  will  contain  the  compound  rules,  and  a  prac- 
tical system  of  book-keeping.  Mr,  Cobb  has  earned  a  celebrity  by  his  la- 
bours in  philology,  and  general  education,  that  few  men  attain,  who,  like 
him,  have  not  passed  the  meridian  of  MfeS'^Badger's  Weekly  Messenger. 

"  One  peculiar  advantage  of  this  book  will  be,  as  we  conceive,  that  the 
teacher  will  be  put  in  possession  of  a  well  digested  system  of  explanations, 
which,  whatever  may  be  the  extent  of  his  mathematical  knowledge,  will 
not  fail  to  be  serviceable  to  him  in  imparting  that  knowledge  to  his  pupils.'' 
^-New  York  Sentinel. 

"  This  work  appears  to  be  the  first  of  an  intended  series ;  such  a  trea* 
4ise,  we  have  long  thought,  has  been  much  needed ;  and  a  slight  examina- 
tion of  this  little  volume  must  satisfy  teachers,  parents,  and  pupils,  that  \% 
(deserves  introduction  into  all  our  seminaries  of  elementary  instruction,  by 
reason  of  the  numerous  and  peculiar  advantages  which  it  affords. "r—iV^ 
JW  Evening  Journal, 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  hjo^ks  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

^L  -  -D 

JUN  1 7  1963 

l%8£&^                          U-SggSn-. 

YA  T0389 


M109921     w 


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